


Tales of Two

by Lilith Sedai (TAFKAB)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 89
Words: 113,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/Lilith%20Sedai
Summary: This fic was also written by Pumpkin, but I've been unable to determine if she has an AO3 address.A haughty prince finds that self-sufficiency is overrated.  (An old story)This story is intended to be fun both for its readers and for its writers, in the tradition of old fashioned serials. If you're looking for Great Art...these are not the droids you're looking for. Move along!Lilith: Writing with Pumpkin is a pleasure. I'd thought I'd never write more TPM, but this serial has revived my interest and made writing in the fandom fun again. This format is experimental; we don't plan to end every piece with a cliffhanger or try to ratchet up angst to unbearable levels. Instead, we're following an unfolding drama and developing relationship through two sets of eyes-- both Qui-Gon's and Obi-Wan's, and Pumpkin's and my own. :) We hope you'll enjoy it!Pumpkin: What she said :) We hope you have as much fun reading as we have writing.If you are a co-author on this story and would like it removed, please comment and I will take it down.





	1. Chapter 1

Qui-Gon Jinn glared at his companion contemptuously. With typically erratic precognitive accuracy, his father had predicted this tableau. However, he suspected Yoda had envisioned it the other way 'round. He kicked open the gilt-patterned doors, not giving the heralds time to announce his presence, and flung his unwilling companion before him with a judicious twist to his ear and the application of a boot on the seat of the man's trousers.

His latest bodyguard sprawled before the throne in ignominious defeat, his dark cheeks stained even darker with humiliation. Qui-Gon strode forward, one booted foot coming to rest contemptuously on either side of the beaten man's body. "Perhaps this will convince you that I am in no need of 'protection,' honored father." He touched his finger sarcastically to the golden circlet on his brow, then wheeled in a swirl of cloak and strode away, leaving the throne room abuzz behind him.

"Qui-Gon!"

Only one voice could stop him in his tracks and Qui-Gon froze as his father's wizened tone rang out above the others. Fists clenched, he closed his eyes a moment, contemplating how good it would feel to just continue out the door, to make his stand for independence with that single act of defiance.

The moment faded, disappearing beneath the weight of the silence that now hung behind him and he knew he would obey the command implicit in his father's call. Turning, he strode back into the room, his boots ringing loudly on the marbled floor. His lips twisted as he watched Mace, his former bodyguard scramble out of the way, though he schooled his features into some semblance of calm as he stood once more in front of his father's throne.

"Sire?" He shook his head, freeing his long hair from his collar, aware as always of the admiring glances from his father's courtiers. His hair had begun to silver early, giving him an aristocratic appearance heightened by chiseled features and a twice-broken nose that gave him something of the appearance of a bird of prey.

His father's brows lowered, his mouth pursing with disapproval. Time had made inroads into the King's appearance, drawing deep wrinkled lines in his face and, in a death-knell to any attractiveness he'd ever possessed, age had caused white tufts of hair to grow in his ears. But not even that was enough to undermine the authority he held in his kingdom.

"Disappointing this is, but not unexpected." The King stabbed his scepter toward the chagrined heap of bodyguard at his feet. "I have already arranged his replacement." He pointed his staff toward his chamberlain. "Take him away. Tend his wounds and give him clean raiment. He is to be paid, with a bonus for enduring my son's foolishness, and given a horse and provisions so that he may go where he will."

Qui-Gon stiffened at the mention of another bodyguard and his fists clenched once more at his father's words. "Respectfully, Sire, they would not have to endure my foolishness if you would not insist on forcing bodyguards upon me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Have I not proven that to you again and again?" Qui-Gon hated the note of yearning that crept into his tone; fifty years of trying to please his father and fifty years of failing-- at some point he was going to give up trying.

"I will not bury a son."

"But father, surely I have more than proved these bodyguards you keep assigning me are not adequate for the task."

"Indeed. Which is why I have sent a messenger to the temple in the northern mountains." A hush fell over the court; eyes darted back and forth across painted fans. The temple was spoken of frequently, but in whispers; it was said that the men there did not live like other men. They believed differently, acted differently, and chose to follow strange spiritual paths.

Some even murmured that the monks cultivated sorcery and trafficked with dark powers. Qui-Gon impatiently dismissed those rumors; doubtless the most danger any of the monks had ever confronted was stabbing himself with an over-sharpened quill.

"With all due respect, my father, what use have I for a monk when a fighting man is inadequate in my defense?" He cast a glance at the departing bodyguard; if nothing else, Knight Windu had been a fair swordsman.

"You must discover that for yourself, my son." With a sudden mad cackle, indicative of what Qui-Gon sometimes feared was a senile humor, his time-shrunken father rose, stabbing the scepter that doubled as his walking staff in the direction of his chest.

"As you command." Qui-Gon felt his spine stiffen as he bent his knee in proper courtesy to the old King's departure. He waited until his father was gone before following the old man out, head held high, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him.

He strode down the hall, letting his feet choose their own path as anger coursed through him. He wasn't an evil man, but at times like this he wished that if his father wouldn't die, the least he could do was step down and let his son assume the position he had been groomed for all of his life.

Their line was long-lived, but surely his father was pushing the limits and doing it out of spite, he'd warrant.

A half-smile lit his face as he realized his feet had carried him to the kitchen. Shmi would be there, her simple gray gown dusted with flour and powdered sugar, cheeks red from the heat of the stoves. Perhaps a quick grope in the pantry followed by a treat or two would sweeten his disposition.

His smile faded as he strode through the door. Shmi wasn't alone. The interloper wasn't someone he recognized, probably a new stable boy by the looks of him. He wore a rough brown homespun cloak and travel-stained leather boots, narrow to the point of delicacy at the ankles, giving him the look of a high-strung filly. His hair was rough-cut, much shorter than the local fashion, and his hands were dirty around the loaf he held. Worse than that, he wasn't bowing. Qui-Gon's grin returned, wide across his face this time. He would teach this boy some manners.

He stepped into the kitchen, moving with effortless silence, deftly flipping his cloak back over his shoulder to free his sword-arm. Shmi's eyes widened with dismay but he frowned at her and she kept silent; the boy continued to tear pieces from the loaf and eat them.

Qui-Gon drew his blade and addressed the flat of the blade sharply to the lad's shoulders. "Kneel in respect to a noble, boy!" But before the smack could land, the lad spun, faster than the eye could follow, and steel rang on steel as his blow was parried. He blinked, then wondered why he was sitting on the floor; a sudden glint of light drew his eyes to the end of his nose, where the point of a blade hovered. He felt a hollow, dull pain in his middle, and his lungs were empty. The boy settled himself back on both feet, regarding him with clear eyes and a perfectly calm face.

Anger surged in him even as he gasped for breath in the most humiliating fashion; the sword withdrew slightly, giving him enough leeway to glance around for his blade, which lay on the tiles well out of reach. "How dare you!" he managed between gasps. "Have you any idea who I am?"

The boy quirked his head to one side and contemplated him evenly with cool, sea-green eyes. "The Prince, I'd wager."

Qui-Gon warily watched the young man. "I'll have your head for this insult!"

The lad's mouth quirked upward in unmistakable amusement, the sting of which worsened as he realized Shmi was smiling behind her worn palm. Realizing that he still sat flat on his backside with the tail of his cloak smoldering in the ashes set about the baking pans on the kitchen hearth, he rose hastily and brushed himself off with angry slaps. "What is your name and how are you in service to this house?" he snapped, peremptory and eager to save face.

The lad's smile widened, reaching his eyes. "Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have the honor to be bodyguard to his grace, the Prince Regent."


	2. Chapter 2

Having picked himself up from the floor and extinguished his cloak, there was no dignified way retrieve his sword. He did the best he could, however, moving with sharp, affronted gestures that only seemed to amuse Shmi and his new bodyguard all the more. "You will not be for long," he promised the boy coldly, returning his blade to its sheath.

"I think you are mistaken." The mellow voice lilted with a faint, exotic accent.

"Any fool can take a superior fighter once, unaware." Qui-Gon's voice froze like a pond in midwinter. "I will not be caught unaware again." The lad shrugged and retrieved his bread, which he'd somehow managed to deposit neatly on the table. Unconcerned, he took another bite. "It isn't my job to catch you unaware. It's to prevent others from doing so."

"We'll see how long that remains your job. We shall duel in the morning and once I have bested you, you may go back to where you came from."

Obi-Wan frowned, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, making him appear older. Perhaps he wasn't quite the boy Qui-Gon has assumed him to be; he was still, however, a good deal younger than Qui-Gon himself. The Prince felt his confidence return to its usual level -they would fight the next morning and he would best the lad and send him on his way. "I have no intention of dueling with you," said Obi-Wan, interrupting Qui-Gon's train of thought.

"You have to," replied Qui-Gon haughtily. The lad was grinning again and holding out his hands, palms up as he shook his head. "If you expect to stay on as my bodyguard you will have to prove your prowess by dueling with me," Qui-Gon insisted.

"I thought the intent of the duel was to send me away?"

"It is."

"Very circular logic, your highness," said Obi-Wan, finishing his bread. "It seems that you are intent on dueling me. Very well, but I have to warn you that I am the best swordsman the Order has."

Qui-Gon shrugged, beginning to feel that he was gaining the upper hand at last. "You have been the biggest fish in a very small pond," he informed his new bodyguard in a condescending tone. "I, however, have been trained by the finest swordsmen in this kingdom, and defeated them all."

Kenobi thought for a moment, then nodded. "I will concede that possibility, for my brothers do not acknowledge ourselves as subjects of your father's rule."

Qui-Gon bristled; the allegiance of the temple had always been claimed by his father, but it was true they paid no tribute to the throne. He laid his palm on his sword. "Perhaps there is no need to wait till morning."

Kenobi finished his bread and gave a polite nod to Shmi. "Thank you for the meal, my lady." He picked up a set of mud-stained saddlebags.

"You're welcome, sir." She gave Qui-Gon an impatient look; she was one of the few in the castle who he allowed to get away with such scandalous liberties.

"Where shall we duel? I assume you wish to take this pointless contest to a proper arena." He smiled casually, a disarmingly friendly expression. Qui-Gon did not return it, watching the way his limbs flowed easily through every motion. It was likely that the boy was a deadly swordsman, in spite of his monkish background.

"The main courtyard should be fine. And of course there will be an audience. I wouldn't want you to cry foul when I win."

"I won't kill you," Obi-Wan told him with serious eyes as he removed his cloak and draped it over his arm.

"It never even crossed my mind that you could," sneered Qui-Gon. "But I can see where your worries lie and I assure you that I will not kill you either. I haven't killed a bodyguard yet, merely wounded their dignity and sent them on their way, tails firmly between their legs." Qui-Gon held his arm out toward the door, watching Obi-Wan as he walked ahead.

Shmi made a noise behind him and Qui-Gon looked back to see her shaking her head. He grinned and gave her a mock salute before following Kenobi out the door. The view was lovely indeed and he wished the boy had been here on other business; instead of sending him on his way, Qui-Gon could have been wooing him for his bed.

The lad seemed to know the way to the main courtyard. He strode forward with calm purpose, a cocky sway to his hips that spoke of absolute confidence... and possibly knowledge of Qui-Gon's stare.

When they entered the area, Qui-Gon was surprised to find a scattering of nobles and others assembled there, as though waiting. With a surge of anger, he realized his father was there as well, ensconced in the high seat at one end of the area. "You are predictable, my son, but we had not anticipated your arrival so soon." The ancient man seated himself, crossly waving away his chamberlain's offer of assistance.

"My departure will be equally precipitous," Qui-Gon assured him tartly, shouldering out of his cloak and tossing it aside; its burned hem spoiled the impression he was making with the assembled ladies.

Kenobi strode across the courtyard, pausing only to make a gracious leg before the King. He tossed aside his cloak and began peeling out of his layered tunics, shedding the encumbering garments. Qui-Gon watched beneath lowered lids, preparing himself similarly. The last layer of his opponent's shirts fell away and revealed a whippet-slim torso with compact, wiry muscles of a sort that he knew would be rock-hard. Softly pink nipples only served as a tempting distraction from his hard, masculine build. A long slim braid trailed down from behind one ear to sway, brushing across his right nipple in a tantalizing arc.

Qui-Gon knew from experience that the young monk was blindingly fast, and had prepared his strategy accordingly. He would make the lad come to him. It would take a long time for him to tire; there was not a spare ounce of fat on him. He would be like a stone buffeted by the wind; the lad could lash at him all he wished, to no avail. Qui-Gon's superior strength and reach would eventually prove his bodyguard's undoing.

He stood stonily, watching the lad limber himself, bending to tuck all three joints of his fingers under the toes of his boots. No wonder his hands were dirty. Qui-Gon grounded his sword, watching for a time, growing increasingly impatient as the admiration usually reserved for him was lavished upon the boy as he stretched and displayed his lean, graceful body.

No, he would not feel remorse over making this a bitter lesson in the advantage of age, skill, and treachery over youth and overconfidence.

"Will you fight, or are you planning a gymnastic exhibition?" he inquired at length, impatient.

The lad merely straightened, smiling that enigmatic, infuriating half-smile at him. "If you insist, we will duel."

Qui-Gon readied his sword and waited for the first attack, but it did not come. They faced off, both poised, the boy bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, as though he could not quench the boundless energy inside him.

"Attack," Qui-Gon goaded him.

"To make the first attack is wasteful and unwise." The lad lectured him as though he were a foolish pupil, never moving, and Qui-Gon gave in to his anger, stalking forward and slapping at the blade that waited to meet his. "One should always use a first attack as an opportunity to estimate the opponent." Kenobi danced aside, turning the hammer-blow of Qui-Gon's blade away neatly with a flick of his wrist, managing to avoid the jarring impact Qui-Gon had intended to deliver to his sword-arm. "In making it, you also waste the energy of an uncalculated blow."

Qui-Gon rounded to face him rapidly, not letting the lad dance behind his back. Perhaps the rumors of sorcery were correct; no one could move so swiftly! "A rapier may dance more quickly than a broadsword," Qui-Gon responded, "But it also snaps the faster when caught in an opponent's quillions." He met the dancing flash of Kenobi's sword, a satisfying chime of metal, and turned it aside.

"First it must be caught." Kenobi waded in, the blade seeming to shatter into a rainbow prism as it flashed and swung, whining through the air about Qui-Gon's body. He lunged after it, managing to turn the darting attacks before they landed by relying on sheer instinct. Their eyes locked and Qui-Gon used his considerable skill to read Kenobi's intentions in his eyes, anticipating the blows before they were launched. It was too late to respond once they had begun; Kenobi moved like greased silk.

The ringing sounded like a chorus of bells as they circled, Qui-Gon forced to move to evade some of the lunges, trying to stay out of the circumference of darting steel lest he misjudge a step and be caught.

A titter caught his attention; he flushed as the blade darted through his guard and slapped his shoulder, leaving a needle-thin line of blood where its razor-sharp edge peeled a wafer of skin away. Giving the offender a sharp glare cost him a second slap; he slammed the blade away furiously and changed his tactics, charging forward and hoping to bury the slender boy under an avalanche of strength.

Kenobi bore up well under the parade of savage hits, though they should have shivered his coltish frame to the ankles. His muscles were even harder than they looked; Qui-Gon could tell he was pressing the boy from the way that his mouth firmed into a line, but he met each attack solidly.

He struck with all his weight, forcing the lad to his knees, but Kenobi twisted his wrist and somehow Qui-Gon's sword was flying, clattering across the tiles. Kenobi rose and stepped back, courteous. "Do you care to continue?" Qui-Gon merely glared, stalking over to retrieve his sword and resuming guard position. Such a thing hadn't happened since he was nineteen.

"Your anger blunts your skill," Kenobi observed, and this time he waded in to continue the battle, driving Qui-Gon backward. He never seemed to be beneath the savage lunges directed at him; they came close to cleaving him, but he squirmed away like an eel, and soon Qui-Gon found himself in a sweat, realizing that the tempting near-hits had drawn him out of his wise plan to conserve energy.

Kenobi was glistening with sweat too, but his chest rose and fell lightly, and he still bounced on his feet as Qui-Gon backed away to take a moment of breath. There was a single trickle of blood down Kenobi's neck from where Qui-Gon had nicked the lobe of his ear; he took that as a savage consolation. "If you are so wise," he had to stop for air, "Then tell me. How would you defeat yourself?"

Kenobi smiled. "I do not seek defeats. I seek allies."

"That does not answer my question." Qui-Gon raised his blade again, guarding against the possibility of advance.

"Strength is no match for wit," Kenobi remarked through that infuriating smile, and brought his blade up once again. Qui-Gon responded, then realized Kenobi had baited the attack, and it had come as he expected. Of course he could counter it easily. He feinted left and snapped a kick at Kenobi's right ankle; the monk scrambled and rolled backward, but the kick connected.

"Better," Kenobi commented with approval. "But not good enough."

Qui-Gon lunged at him again, this time trying all of the dirtiest tricks he knew-- and found them countered as quickly as they were launched. He even scuffed a handful of sand at the younger man's eyes, but they were closed in anticipation, and Kenobi slid through the opening like a snake to pin him without ever opening them, blade at his throat.

"How?" Qui-Gon growled, his breath coming hard and his throat feeling like gravel.

"You hinder yourself with pride. It makes you transparent, even to a blind man." Kenobi let him up and opened his eyes, clear blue-green in his dirty face. "We will fight now," the monk announced almost pleasantly, and advanced.

There were no words to describe his speed; his sword flickered in a blur about Qui-Gon, driving him in circles, slipping in and out of his guard to slap at ribs, thighs, neck. Qui-Gon swore, leaving himself open deliberately just for a chance at Kenobi's throat, and found himself on tiptoe, the point of a blade denting the crotch of his trousers. "Anger again." Kenobi shook his head. "You would do better against a different opponent, I think. Your animosity has blunted your skill."

It was true, Qui-Gon realized. He'd held his own at first, while he could still be objective enough to anticipate the lad, but now he was being led by the nose. He pulled back for a moment and Kenobi let him compose himself, waiting. Qui-Gon realized the picture he must make, thin bloody rivulets criss-crossing his body, hair matted with sweat. He tried to calm himself, breathing deeply, awaiting renewed attack.

Kenobi nodded with approval, then waded in with a backhanded slash and kick; Qui-Gon dodged the blade and caught the kick, flipping him in a complete somersault and following. This time his blade smacked Kenobi's ribs; the boy took the blow and scissored his legs, taking his ankles out from under him.

"Well done!" Kenobi praised, and Qui-Gon blinked at the extended hand; Kenobi had already bounced up, leaving his sword, and was standing before him, offering the handclasp symbolic of truce.

He weighed the possibility of further humiliation against the unlikely possibility of scoring a lucky blow, then grasped the hand grudgingly, his mouth turned down sourly at the corners. "Well-fought." His voice was flat, with no friendliness, but Kenobi smiled as though it had been truly gracious, and gave him a bow-- his first sign of respect.

Helping him up, Kenobi then turned to the King. "I am satisfied," he spoke with a properly deferential tone. "I accept the position."

Qui-Gon growled low in the back of his throat, but didn't say anything, facing his father with a stiff back.

"So," said Yoda, turning to him, "no more fights? You'll accept this bodyguard and let him concentrate on protecting you instead of fighting you?"

He tipped his father a begrudging half bow with his head. "He bested me; he should be able to best anyone who tries to kill me. Or die trying," he finished under his breath, for Kenobi's ears only. The boy grinned at him, but said nothing.

"If it pleases my lord," said Qui-Gon with another half bow before turning and striding from the courtyard.


	3. Chapter 3

Kenobi's boots rang out on the stone as he trotted up to take his place at the prince's side. "Our clothing?" asked the boy as he followed Qui-Gon through the maze of corridors.

"The servants will retrieve them," Qui-Gon told him shortly. "You needed a change anyway."

"Which would be in my saddle bags-- which are with my clothes."

"And no doubt all you've got in there are more of those dreadfully dull tunics. If you are to be my bodyguard, you must dress the part."

He looked at his companion, admiring anew the trim muscles and smooth skin, noting with rue the single trickle of blood on the lad's chest. His own body sported a host of scratches and cuts, delivered by the lad's rapier and his stumbles. "Perhaps black silk."

"My own clothes are fine for me."

"If you are to be my constant companion, I'll not have you looking like a rag-tag stable boy," insisted Qui-Gon coldly. "Bad enough you've got that ridiculous haircut."

"This is the traditional tonsure of my order." Serene, he seemed not to mind Qui-Gon's scowl. "I will keep it."

At least he hadn't said outright that he would refuse new clothes.

"Most persons have no idea that your order practices martial pursuits," Qui-Gon commented. "It is believed that you are dedicated to the preservation of texts and knowledge."

"It is difficult to protect such things without the ability to fight," Kenobi pointed out. "Many scholars in our ancestors' past have been put to the sword, their manuscripts and monasteries burned. We prefer to protect ours at need."

"I suspect more than one attacking force has been taken off-guard," Qui-Gon commented wryly, and Obi-Wan laughed, his head tilting back, lips parting unexpectedly widely in his delight, showing perfect white teeth and a tantalizing flicker of pink tongue. His ill-shaven beard caught the light.

"I suppose you are correct, at that." His eyes flashed merriment at Qui-Gon. -pull for a servant.

Kenobi re-materialized as silently as he'd gone, frowning when he saw his command had not been obeyed. "We will have to come to an agreement on some basic rules," he spoke tartly. "When I tell you to wait, you wait. You do not enter a room without permission."

"These are my apartments," Qui-Gon protested.

"That makes them all the more dangerous, for you're expected here."

Qui-Gon sighed loudly and flopped into a chair. He'd been through this time and again. "Very well," he agreed with exaggerated patience. "I suppose that you will also insist on supervising me when I piss. Would you like the job of taking down my trousers as well?"

"I believe you're competent to handle that," Obi-Wan commented dryly, examining the furniture and bookshelves carefully.

Kenobi's obvious indifference to the innuendo stung Qui-Gon, and he remained silent until maids arrived, bearing steaming ewers of water and soft white towels. Deliberately ignoring his new bodyguard, Qui-Gon flirted with the girls as he directed them to set the ewers and towels on the long table by the bed.

"Would my lord be needing anything else?" Asked the younger of the two, a definite gleam in her eye. Qui-Gon grinned at her as he made a show of sitting on the edge of the bed.

"That'll be all," said Kenobi, already moving to the table and fussing with the water.

Qui-Gon glared at the boy, but Kenobi seemed oblivious. Swatting the girl on the rump the Prince nodded her away and turned his attention back to the boy. "You're right. We do need to come to an agreement regarding some basic rules."

The lad nodded. "I enter all rooms before you and give the OK before you enter. I taste all food and drink before you. I will be your shadow until your father releases me from service. Do not fear for your secrets; my discretion can be trusted." He wet a towel in the steaming water and wrung it out. "Now, my prince, I will see to your wounds. I regret that it was necessary to inflict them, but you forced my hand." He reached and took the prince's wrist.

"That's not what I meant!" Qui-Gon glowered and snatched his arm away. "You will not take my privacy. And you do not command my servants!"

"Very well," Kenobi agreed. "But in all things relevant to your well-being, I command you. Now give me your arm." He caught it again in an iron grip and began to bathe the small wounds from his blade.

Qui-Gon could feel himself beginning to pout and he stiffened his spine, curling his lips into the semblance of a snarl. Though Kenobi's hands were warm against his skin, the towel abraded and Qui-Gon was soon bristling again as the small cuts stung under the boy's less than tender care.

"Ow!" he exclaimed indignantly as the long slice on his upper chest was treated.

"Sorry," Kenobi said softly before running two fingers gently along the cut. Qui-Gon started; the pain disappeared like magic as Kenobi's touch moved over his skin. Looking down, he could clearly see that the skin had closed around the cut, granted it hadn't been a severe wound, but surely it was healed at least a day's worth and certainly the pain was entirely gone.

"What did you do?"

Kenobi shrugged, looking uncomfortable for the first time since Qui-Gon had known him. "It's a simple technique, really. I..." he hesitated. "I made that part of your body work harder. Accelerated blood flow. When you do it right, it cleanses dead tissue and builds new at a relatively quick rate."

"You monks are sorcerors. You used sorcery to beat me." Qui-Gon heard the bizarre mixture of relief and disappointment in his own voice, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"No, though I very nearly had to." Kenobi's eyes were a sober blue-green, his face absolutely earnest. "I'm faster than you, and you were angry. If you were my age, you could probably equal my speed."

"Never use your sorcerous tricks on me without telling me," Qui-Gon commanded, and he realized it was the first actual rule he'd made, though he'd intended to make many more.

"Yes, your highness." Kenobi's head bent forward and he cleansed another cut. Qui-Gon submitted with better grace this time, a plan for subtle and pleasant vengeance forming in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Qui-Gon's rooms were bright and warmly decorated. The walls were covered with blue and gold tapestries, the carpets a deep burgundy. The heavy furniture suited his tall frame and was both functional and comfortable. In his sleeping chamber, the bed was the centerpiece. Heavy curtains hung from the high bedposts; turned back at the moment, they could be pulled around the bed to ensure the utmost privacy. There was more than enough room for the Prince and several others, though as often as not, he slept alone. Not that he was going to tell Kenobi that.

Sitting comfortably against a mountain of cushions, legs crossed genteelly at the ankles, he folded his arms across his chest and watched with some amusement as two young serving wenches tended to his new bodyguard's needs.

The boy had suffered only a single scratch at his hands, but he was quite in need of a bath and a proper shave. A haircut wouldn't have gone amiss either, but he suspected that Kenobi's tolerance was being pushed to its limits already.

Perhaps he could convince the boy to lose that ridiculous braid trailing from behind one ear if he started to use it as a leash.

Qui-Gon shifted as the thought stirred his body, the last thing he wanted was for Kenobi to realise he intrigued Qui-Gon in that particular arena.

Kenobi was sitting primly on the edge of the divan that sat on the other side of the low table, obviously ill at ease under the attention of the two girls who were sponging him down. A soft-voiced argument had been taking place for several minutes. Growing impatient, Qui-Gon finally put an end to it. "For the love of Corusc, just take your breeches off, boy. You haven't got anything they haven't seen before."

Kenobi, flustered for the first time since Qui-Gon had met him, flashed the prince an affronted glare. "They haven't seen mine!"

"The way you take on, you'd think nobody had."

"And your indifference leads me to think that far too many have seen your own!" The young monk rallied, and Qui-Gon could not tell if the flush rising on his cheeks was embarrassment or anger.

Qui-Gon shrugged eloquently, untroubled by the comment. "You are stalling." He looked forward with pleasure to Kenobi's surrender; the monk's refusing to be out of the same room with him was a sword that cut two ways.

Kenobi frowned, then composed himself with a visible effort and reached for the lacings. He rounded his back modestly on Qui-Gon and the servants, but that only served to highlight the swell of his hips as he bent and pushed the cloth to the floor.

Lovely. Steel-hard muscle in clearly-defined dips and spare curves, simply begging for the palm of a strong man's hand. Qui-Gon licked his lips with satisfaction and one of the serving maids tittered, catching his expression out of the corner of her eye. He blanked his face smoothly as Kenobi straightened, jerking nervously. The lad covered his genitals with his hands and gave her a wide-eyed, startled look.

There were other battlefields than the palace courtyard, and other weapons than steel. Qui-Gon sat back lazily, schooling his expression to boredom. Kenobi quickly seated himself in the washtub and the maids mixed kettles of boiling water in half-buckets of cool, pouring the hot bathwater in onto his body, their small palms rubbing dirt and sweat from his slender torso.

Kenobi sat, quietly enduring their ministrations, eyes on the carpet, but when one of the girls reached for a pair of scissors, he held up his hands, protesting.

"I said I wouldn't cut my hair. My lord," he faced Qui-Gon for the first time since disrobing, "it is the way of my order."

"It's ugly," Qui-Gon told him bluntly.

"It teaches humility and safeguards against vanity."

"And what of the... tail?"

To Qui-Gon's surprise, Kenobi's face grew red again and he looked away, clearly more embarrassed at the question than he had been when he'd been told to remove his breeches. "There are some things about which you will have to remain curious."

Qui-Gon inclined his head, letting the matter drop, though he vowed silently to discover the answer.

The girls scrubbed the young man thoroughly, though he insisted on cleaning some portions himself, much to his prince's amusement. When at last he stood and was rinsed, clear steaming water sluicing down the trim, clean lines of his body, Qui-Gon took the towel from the girl who held it and dried the boy himself, curtly dismissing the maids.

"Now I will shave you. I assume you will permit this, at least?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, then nodded.

Qui-Gon left him to rub himself dry and wrap the towel around his slim body. He occupied the time by selecting a long straight razor and strap. He did not shave himself, of course, but he thought it would be a pretty game to see if the lad trusted his hand, or if he flinched away from the blade. Smiling slightly, the prince built the lather with the stubby brush, then painted his bodyguard's cheeks.

"I trust that you are not a novice." Almost fully calm, the lad displayed just the barest flicker of worry. Qui-Gon merely raised a brow and moved in, drawing the bright steel along the lad's jaw. He shaved carefully, dipping lightly into the cleft point of Kenobi's chin.

It was bizarrely soothing, tending to another person; the realization surprised him. He did not rush the job, enjoying the close look at the young man's features. His skin was slightly roughened, a lingering testimony of past adolescence, and he had a single dark freckle on his right cheek. His brows were low, framing one of the straightest noses Qui-Gon had ever seen. He surveyed it with a little envy; it took a fine fighter indeed to sport a pristine and unbroken nose.

It was a face that could look boyish or menacing, innocent or cruel, a perfect and open book to shifting moods. At the moment it looked worried, the eyes a clear gray. He shook his head. How did they do that?

"My lord?" the soft tones broke his reverie and he finished the work quickly, pulling the straight edge up the vulnerable neck.

"There," said Qui-Gon, throwing the razor onto the table and tugging the bell-pull once more. "With the right clothing, you might just fit in."

"I would be more comfortable in the clothes I brought," began Kenobi, but Qui-Gon waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. He threw himself back on his bed, lounging lazily as the servants arrived and quickly cleaned the room.

"We'll have something made for you, of course. In the meantime, I'm sure Adi can take in some of my castoffs." He turned to one of the wenches. "Sira, fetch Adi and tell her to bring the black silk I wore a few seasons back."

Kenobi fidgeted in his towel as they waited, his nipples stiffening to tight little peaks in response to the chill. Qui-Gon tried not to look at them too obviously, but it was difficult. He was a proud man, and he'd rarely been denied anything he wanted, either by himself or by any other. Of course, the more he saw of this young man, the more he wanted. Subtlety and patience were not his strongest suits, but Kenobi had already proved that it would be necessary to hone both attributes.

Sira returned quickly from the adjacent wardrobe, bearing not one but three outfits that Qui-Gon had worn as a younger man. Adi followed on her heels, bearing her sewing kit, with a needle between her lips.

The first suit of clothes was black silk, as ordered; Qui-Gon put it in Obi-Wan's hands immediately. "Dress," he ordered, examining the other clothing with a critical eye. One was an olive green that had always been too tight for him through the shoulders and in the hips; it should serve well. The other was pure white, a rather impractical color, but he thought it would complement the lad's coloring well, making the blue-green of his eyes stand out-- and the reddish hue of his hair, revealed in the slant of a sunbeam as the short-cropped fuzz dried.

Obi-Wan dressed in the black silks; the sober color made him look pale and studious; Qui-Gon decided its effect was lessened by the incongruous clerical hairstyle. Adi clucked and fussed over him, pinning and measuring, then she skinned him and set to work, her needle flying.

Satisfied that all was well in hand, Qui-Gon rose from the bed as though to check the view from his window, covering a subtle retreat toward the door. He had a prior appointment to keep, and Kenobi was distracted. Giving Sira a wink, he made his escape just as his new bodyguard's head disappeared beneath the drape of the olive tunic.


	5. Chapter 5

The silk felt strange against his skin. Luxurious and soft, it caressed him as it slid over his head and along his chest. Obi-Wan impatiently pushed his hands through the overlong sleeves, obediently holding his hands out to the girl, so that Sira could roll them up. "I really would be more comfortable in my own clothes," he said, turning to the prince... who was no longer standing next to him, or sitting on the bed. The quiet click of the closing door in the sitting room beyond the sleeping chamber gave away the Prince's position.

He jerked, startled, and Adi jabbed him accidentally with a needle. "Hold still!" she admonished crossly.

"The prince has gone. I've got to--"

"If you don't want to go naked, you'll wait till I finish taking in these tucks," she returned, her voice implacable. Chafing at the delay, he let Sira continue to measure and fuss with the other outfits. Maybe he should go naked; it was possible his act might cause enough scandal to prevent Prince Qui-Gon from evading him again... but then again, considering the man's lack of shame, it probably wouldn't.

At last she finished sewing, and Obi-Wan had to admit that she worked fast, almost as quickly as he could swing his sword. He elbowed into the black silk, impatiently letting them fasten buckles and buttons and gussets and light alone knew what else until he was more or less presentable. Qui-Gon's old boots were too loose on his feet, but his own brown ones did not match the fine black silk, so he wore them, leaving the annoyed women chattering in his wake and he stalked out and tried to decide which way Qui-Gon might have gone.

He stopped in the hallway outside the door leading to the Prince's quarters, hands on his hips as he glared one way and then the other. He felt panic rise in his throat, bitter like bile, and his stomach tightened with nerves he'd managed to keep tamped down in the heat of his unusual first meeting with the Prince returning. He smoothed his hand along the thin rope of his braid.

What the Prince, and indeed his father, didn't know, was that this task was Obi-Wan's final trial. Success would guarantee his place among the order. He'd have to ensure that no-one learned that; if the Prince were to discover it he'd become completely impossible. As though he weren't already!

Indignantly he slapped at the unfamiliar tight sleeves of the garment he wore, wishing for his cloak and cowl. He would have to take hold of himself straight away; just because this was his first mission on his own was no reason to fall apart.

He closed his eyes and centered himself, letting the surrounding environment wash into his senses. There, down the hall-- he thought he heard Prince Qui-Gon's voice. Drawing himself to his full height and pulling serenity around himself in the place of his missing cloak, he glided down the hall in search of the Prince.

He paused at a casement window, hearing a child's laughter, and gazed out. There stood Qui-Gon, tossing a blond-haired child into the air and catching him, producing the happy squeals that had drawn Obi-Wan's attention. Obi-Wan leaned against the casement, watching in amazement as the Prince's face was transformed by a wide smile. The arrogant set of the Prince's features disappeared beneath his natural and sincere smile and it made Obi-Wan wonder what other qualities the superior attitude hid.

The game continued for some minutes, Qui-Gon seeming tireless as he continued to play with the boy in the inner courtyard. Sun shone down on the two of them, turning the blond hair of the boy to burnished gold and catching the silver of the Prince's hair-- a crown far finer than his circlet.

"Are you behaving well for your mother, Anakin?" Qui-Gon took the boy's hand and led him across to a wooden bench under a flowering tree.

The child pouted a little, but nodded. "I've done everything she asked. Will you take me to the stables?"

"That's what I promised." The Prince smiled down at the lad again, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a tender expression. "And we should always do as we promise."

"Yes, sir." The lad made his response solemnly, then brightened. "And I learned my lessons as well. This means you'll take me riding?"

"Of course." Qui-Gon scooped him up, laughing, and deposited him on his own shoulders. "Easy with the spurs," he warned.

"Yippee!"

Obi-Wan left the casement and hurried down a staircase into the courtyard just in time to catch Qui-Gon and the lad galloping through the far gate. He felt his fists clench and anger surge through him as the two figures on horseback disappeared rapidly from sight. Being within the castle without his bodyguard was bad enough, but the Prince was truly tempting fate to leave the safety of the walls without him.

Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath, shaking his hands, feeling the anger flowing out of him through his fingers. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, sparing a moment to enjoy the sun on his face, the warm rays a familiar caress. Qui-Gon was gone -without him. There was nothing he could do to change that now, but in the future he intended to stick to the Prince as if he truly were the man's shadow.

Qui-Gon had teased him, asking if Obi-Wan intended to hold the Prince's sex when he pissed -if that's what it was going to take to keep the Prince from running off, then that's what he would do.

Sparing a prayer for Qui-Gon's safe return, Obi-Wan made his way to the stables, intent on finding Qui-Gon's horse's stall and waiting there until the man returned. Surprisingly, Shmi stood there, her lined face torn between pleasure and more pensive emotions, braiding a bit of harness between her fingers.

Obi-Wan bowed to her and she smiled. "I was pleased to see you pass the testing this morning," she dropped the bit of leather and wiped her hands on her skirt. "You were tested faster and performed better than any other bodyguard the Prince has had."

"Yes, well." Obi-Wan paused uncomfortably. "He managed to elude me rather swiftly nonetheless."

"You will watch him the more closely next time, then," she suggested. "He is... a rogue. He knows how to get what he wants, when he wants it." Color touched her cheeks, and Obi-Wan frowned a little, then realization dawned.

"Oh! You mean..."

"Yes. The lad is my son, and his." She still blushed, but her shoulders lifted with pride.

Obi-Wan nodded, understanding the Prince's uncharacteristic tenderness at last, and realizing why he'd let the kitchen mistress speak to him saucily. "He looks to be a fine boy."

"Yes... but at times I worry about his fate." Her lips compressed into a frown of worry. "It isn't easy, being a king. Or even a prince." Her dark eyes studied him shrewdly.

Obi-Wan nodded respectfully. "I well believe that it is not."

"He is a good man."

"I am beginning to see that there is more to him than the spoiled exterior he displays."

"It's a mask, just like the one you wear."

Obi-Wan looked at her in surprise. "Me? I am nothing like the Prince," he protested.

"Oh, I think you're both a lot more alike than either of you would admit. But I was referring to the fact that you also hide behind a mask, albeit yours is more seemly," she said with a smile.

Obi-Wan wanted to protest her claim, but kept quiet. He could hear a little voice in his head reminding him not to dismiss the judgments of others before he had examined them for what truths they did hold; the little voice sounded suspiciously like Pater Mundi and Obi-Wan fought a brief bout of homesickness. This was his home now, until such a time when his services were no longer required. "I will meditate on your words," Obi-Wan told her seriously.

"They've probably gone to ride around the pond. It's well inside the estate, and should be protected," Shmi told him primly, but with more friendliness than before. "Anakin loves the horses and would like to learn to swim, but he's afraid of the water. One day the prince will teach him to overcome his fear."

"He cares very deeply for Anakin," Obi-Wan guessed, feeling the taste of truth in the words.

"More than for his own life," she eyed him levelly. "He is not just the heir to Qui-Gon's title. He is the prince's heart, as well." Turning, she brushed gracefully out of the stable.


	6. Chapter 6

Qui-Gon's horse galloped next to Anakin's. He enjoyed the wind, cool and refreshing through his hair. It was wonderful being away from the castle, from the expectations and intrigues that passed for sport in the gilded halls. But he had responsibilities, not least of which was a dinner with his father and some of the Dukes, including that odious bore Palpatine.

With regret he turned his horse toward the castle, Anakin's smaller mount smoothly following the change in course.

As they returned to the courtyard, their horses' hooves rang out over the cobblestones, the high stone walls echoing the sound back at them. A man waited for them in the stalls, black silk draping over a lightly muscled frame, highlighting fair skin and auburn hair.

His bodyguard. He almost didn't recognize Kenobi dressed in the finery -it certainly suited him, though Qui-Gon had to admit it made the lad look more like a servant of pleasure than one that was destined to be a pain in the posterior. As they dismounted he could see Kenobi's lips tightening, his mouth narrowing into a thin band. To his surprise his bodyguard remained silent and visibly relaxed, a smile softening the pretty lips.

"You must be Anakin."

The boy was not shy in spite of his youth; he put his hand out firmly and shook Obi-Wan's. The Prince lifted a brow at Obi-Wan but continued calmly. "Yes. Anakin, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, my bodyguard." His mouth tightened after the final words, but his tone remained smooth. "Obi-Wan, this is my son Anakin."

"I am honored to meet you." Obi-Wan went to one knee, meeting the child at eye-level.

"I'm glad to meet you too, I guess. But you won't be around very long," the boy commented guilelessly.

"Oh?"

"Bodyguards never are." Spying his mother across the courtyard, Anakin brightened and darted off, leaving Obi-Wan to raise his eyes to the prince's wryly.

"This one will be," he commented dryly, and pushed himself to his feet, dusting his hands on his unfamiliar satin breeches.

Qui-Gon shrugged noncommittally. "We are late for dinner." He kept his voice cool, showing none of the warmth he'd granted Anakin. Qui-Gon strode down the hall without apologizing for his 'transgression,' taking the longest steps he could and ignoring Kenobi's efforts to keep up. They were late, after all, and his father would frown if they came into the banquet hall after the first course had been served.

To his credit, the young man kept up without trotting, though he occasionally doublestepped to keep the pace. "You will not absent yourself in that manner again," Obi-Wan informed him in an annoyingly sharp tone.

"I shall do as I please," Qui-Gon informed him tartly as they rounded a corner to the banquet hall. He gestured for a guard to open the door and strode in grandly; a server who had poked his head out vanished and Qui-Gon knew that the kind-hearted Shmi had told the domestics to wait dinner for him.

He took his seat at his father's side, dipping his head respectfully. The old man's eyebrows lowered with disapproval, but he did not speak.

He could feel Kenobi slide into the seat on his other side and deliberately ignored the lad.

He smiled perfunctorily at the Dukes and their wives scattered around the table, listening idly as conversations, quickly hushed at his entrance, resumed once more. Palpatine was pontificating once again on the importance of his territory to the kingdom and how strategic an alliance between himself and the Duke of Valorum's young daughter would be.

Palpatine's precise pronunciation seemed more obscene than ever as he virtually proposed a union between himself and Valorum's girl -easily 4 times his junior. Qui-Gon was happy to hear Valorum easily brush aside the idea, but he made a note to keep an eye on the situation. Amidala was a charming young thing, only a few years older than Anakin, and Qui-Gon was of a mind to foster a union between the pair, but felt it was far too early to thrust his son into an arranged marriage.

Qui-Gon's own marriage, arranged and performed by his father before Qui-Gon turned 16, had been stressful and short-lived. The girl hadn't been much smarter than a fence-post, but she had been kind and innocent and Qui-Gon had treated her very badly.

It was something that he felt sorry for in retrospect, even more so given that their marriage had ended in her death. Thrown from her horse, she had lingered only a day before succumbing to the injury; Qui-Gon had always felt that if he'd been a better husband she might have chosen to fight for her life rather than let it slip away. His guilt was compounded by the fact that he was relieved, both then and now, not to have to spend any more time with her.

A polite cough from one of the servants interrupted his thoughts and he reached smoothly for a portion of venison from the tray being held out to him. Shmi pickled the coldmeat and served it wrapped in fat; it was one of his favorites. Placing three more of the morsels on his plate, he plucked a fourth from the tray, intent on eating it directly.

Deft fingers plucked it out of his grasp, and he watched in disbelief as his new bodyguard popped the delicacy into his own mouth, chewing and swallowing genteelly as he wiped his fingertips on his napkin.

"What the Sith do you think you're doing?" Qui-Gon hissed, as annoyed by his own surprise as by the loss of the tidbit.

"Tasting your food, my prince. I shall take a bite of every dish that you are served, and eat it before you touch it. I've been trained in the recognition of poisons, and should be able to detect most toxic flavors."

Qui-Gon blinked, aware of the attention from nearby diners. "You are very thorough." His voice was dry.

"It is my job, Your Highness." Obi-Wan folded his hands in his lap. "You may eat."

Qui-Gon glanced at his plate, weighing his taste for terpreted as further mockery. "You stand between her son and the throne, my prince. The long lives your family enjoys are renowned throughout the land. It is possible, though unlikely, that she would care to see her son crowned before her own death."

Qui-Gon sputtered, unable to find a satisfactory answer, and his father intervened. "You are wise, lad. Continue as you are."

Thwarted, Qui-Gon glared around the table, defying the assembled courtiers and nobles to brave his wrath. Without exception, they looked away from his gaze. Palpatine took longer about it than most, daring to let laughter dance in his eyes. He averted his gaze only to take up his wineglass.

"A hot-blooded young lad. I'm sure he will serve you well." He bowed ambiguously toward Qui-Gon and Yoda, lifting the cup to his lips in toast.

Deliberately Qui-Gon turned to Valorum, asking after his wife, who was absent this day, and then inquiring as to his crops and livestock, holding the conversation to topics of no interest to Palpatine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon saw the man stiffen. Good, he thought, I'll give the insufferably smug bastard a taste of his own medicine.

Feeling once more as if he had regained the upper hand, Qui- Gon began to enjoy his meal. His bodyguard sat silently at his side, easy to ignore. That is, until the soup was served and a spoon not his own was dipped into the liquid.

Qui-Gon's fist clenched around his own spoon and he watched, outraged, as Kenobi swallowed down the soup as delicately as he'd eaten the coldmeat. "Are you going to do that with every course?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Kenobi offered him a look of surprise. "Every course of every meal. Of any meal. I do believe I made my intentions known earlier. The soup is safe, my lord."

Qui-Gon considered making further protest, but the stinging memory of his earlier humiliation stopped him. Turning to his soup, he grasped his spoon and took a bite, only to realize that his father was smirking, a faint smile curling the corners of his lips. The thick, hearty soup tasted like ashes in his mouth, and something deep inside him snapped. If his father cared nothing of embarrassing him in front of this whole company, why should he owe his father constant respect, as though the man were the crown itself?

He set the spoon down carefully and pushed the soup away, waiting for the next course.

"Is the soup not good, Prince Qui-Gon?" Palpatine inquired, oozing oily politeness.

"It is quite good. Would you care to have my portion in addition to your own?" Qui-Gon entertained visions of upending his bowl into the man's lap. He would pretend that it had been an accident, of course.

"No thank you," Palpatine responded, his smile freezing a little.

"I would not mind another bowl," Obi-Wan interposed, taking it from the prince's hand. "Thank you."

Qui-Gon just gritted his teeth and waited for the endless meal to be finished.


	7. Chapter 7

Obi-Wan watched his charge relax as they entered his chambers. The prince worked his shoulders, yawning, and unbuckled his sword. He tossed it carelessly onto a carved chair with his cloak. Wordlessly Obi-Wan retrieved it, slipping over to prop it against the wall by the bedside. It had been a hard day for the prince, one filled with more than its share of humiliation. Obi-Wan felt sympathetic, but there was no room for carelessness in sympathy.

Pushing aside the bed curtain, he was pleased to see that the maids had turned back the prince's coverlet. Motion flickered in the corner of his eye, and his hand darted for his sword faster than thought. He slashed forward, the motion eliciting a terrified feminine scream.

Qui-Gon sprinted to his side, heavy boots thumping; Obi-Wan threw his left arm out protectively, holding him away. He held his sword steady at the intruder's throat. "Bring a lamp," he commanded the prince.

"You're a damned fool, Kenobi." Qui-Gon sounded smug and Obi-Wan felt a flicker of uncertainty in his belly; the prince brought the lamp and shoved the bed curtain aside. Light fell on Sira's white face, her eyes wide with terror. She huddled against the far bedpost, trembling.

"I didn't mean no harm, Your Highness!" She extended a shaking hand, petitioning for mercy.

Obi-Wan put his hand on the Prince's arm as Qui-Gon reached for the girl. Qui-Gon looked at him sharply. "Have you lost your mind, Kenobi?"

"You do not seem to understand the seriousness with which I take my charge," replied Obi-Wan tightly. His stomach tightened and he could taste regret at frightening the girl in his mouth, but if he were anything less than diligent the Prince could be dead.

"She's my maid, Kenobi. She often warms my bed for me and you've frightened her out of her wits."

"And what would you do if one of your enemies had paid her to bring a knife to bed to slit your throat once you'd gone to sleep?" asked Obi-Wan, tightening his hold on the Prince's arm. "We can avoid this kind of unpleasantness in the future if Sira would wait for us in the sitting room and allow me to search her before she...warmed your bed."

He pulled his arm back, watching Qui-Gon consider. "Very well," the prince spoke icily. "Sira, kindly show my bodyguard where you have concealed your weapon."

"Your Highness?" she quavered. Obi-Wan let his sword arm drop, remaining ready.

"Up, girl!"

Sira rose obediently, and Obi-Wan's eyes popped as she emerged from the bed, her slender limbs as bare as the day she was born. She stood and raised her arms, turning obediently to display her body to him. Her breasts were young and firm, capped by pink nipples that tightened in the chill of the room. Her hips were round, heavier than a man's, with an exquisite measure of flesh at the base on each side. Her legs were long and whitely slim, not quite touching even at the knees. Her hair cascaded down her back in ribbons of curls.

Obi-Wan tried to find his voice, and could not.

"Do you wish to search further for a weapon? Perhaps she is concealing it elsewhere." Qui-Gon's massive hand moved to cup the triangle of curls at the base of her belly, fingers sliding between her legs. "Would you like to search her?" he asked slyly.

Obi-Wan felt his mouth fall open, but again no words emerged. Sira was blushing now, faint pink chasing over the trim, clean lines of her body. "I... I will check the bedding," he managed at last, blushing in his own right as he moved past them and tossed the covers back. He even checked beneath the edges of the mattress, then stepped back with averted eyes.

"Are you quite satisfied?" the prince asked him impatiently.

"For the moment," allowed Obi-Wan. "But I would prefer if we could avoid this in the future by having Sira wait for us in the sitting room, with a lamp lit."

"Yes, yes, whatever," growled Qui-Gon, waving his arm dismissively.

Obi-Wan looked around the room, looking for his pallet.

"Why are you still here?" asked Qui-Gon.

"I'm looking for my pallet, actually," Obi-Wan answered primly, keeping his eyes averted.

"Your what?" roared Qui-Gon.

"A pallet, my lord; I can hardly sleep in your bed with you, especially in light of..." Obi-Wan pointed his chin in the general direction of Sira. The girl giggled again and Obi-Wan felt his face growing red, his calm definitely shattered. He had never learned how to deal with this situation at the monastery.

"Let me see if I understand you," said Qui-Gon slowly, as if Obi-Wan were deaf, or feeble. "You want a pallet placed in my bed chamber. And you will sleep on this pallet in my bed chamber."

"Only when you are here, my lord."

Qui-Gon grabbed a pillow and a blanket from his bed and threw them at Obi-Wan. He plucked them easily from the air. "The lounge chair will have to do for tonight, I'm in no mood to wait for a servant to bring you a pallet. My... appetites are too strong."

"Appetites?" Obi-Wan repeated slowly, then flushed crimson. "Very well, my prince," he managed to speak courteously, though he felt like his face was on fire. "You need not wait longer to satisfy them." He turned his back resolutely and laid the blanket out on the thick carpet in the middle of the floor. Plumping the pillow, he tossed it down resolutely at the top of the blanket and rolled himself up in the makeshift bed. It was actually as comfortable as the cot in his cell had been, and more comfortable than many nights he'd spent on the road.

The only problem was the clothing he wore-- pearl buttons and silver buckles dug into him uncomfortably, and he shifted, trying to ease them. He was not about to change his clothing with that woman in the prince's bed.

Then a second problem manifested itself: sound. By the light, had they even closed the bed curtains? He squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn't block out the sounds. A small feminine giggle, then a moan. Qui-Gon's voice rumbling... his eyes flew open and he gasped. He'd never heard such filthy language; the prince should be ashamed of himself!

The girl seemed to enjoy it, though. She laughed breathily, then cried out; the bed began to rustle rhythmically.

He felt his body tighten as he listened, a reluctant captive of his job. He knew what those sounds must mean; even a monk could witness farmyard copulations. He bit his lip, trying to distract his body's mindless craving. This was a harder trial than the rest of the day put together!

"Above your head. That's right, little one." The noises changed. Above her head? What would possibly go above her head? Curiosity burned in him suddenly, he kept himself resolutely still.

As he lay there, he realized a second sensation was building in addition to arousal. The servants at the banquet had kept his glass filled, and now he badly needed to relieve himself-- not that he could stir, given the spectacle on the bed!

This, he decided miserably, was hell.

The sounds began to crescendo; her moans mutated into gasps, then soft cries that rapidly escalated to shrieks. Light above, was he guarding the wrong person? It sounded as though the prince were killing her! Forgetting his need to piss, he listened, increasingly concerned. Someone was scratching at the bed sheets; surely this could not be normal!

Eventually he realized he had to look and make sure everything was all right. The prince's breathing had grown labored and he was suspiciously silent. Perhaps the girl had worn some kind of poison on her skin; murder/martyrdoms were not unknown. Gulping, he turned his head and opened one eye to investigate.

Sira lay on her back with her legs open, grasping her ankles, which lay in the air over her head. She was writhing and shrieking, sweat glistening on the perfect creamy curves of her flesh. The prince lay between her legs, his naked hips pumping obscenely; Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he stared helplessly at the tableau, fascinated with prurient horror.

Prince Qui-Gon scrabbled at the sheets to maintain his balance, bending to nip at her throat, which was marked with pink patches and bites. He growled low in his throat, shifting for a better angle, and resumed pushing in and out.

Obi-Wan couldn't see any great advantage in the new position, but Sira screamed, convulsing. He jumped, hand flying to his sword hilt instinctively; the prince he gasped hoarsely pushed deeply inside her. His body shuddered and he collapsed. Alarmed, Obi-Wan shot to his knees, ready to run to the prince's aid, but Qui-Gon merely nuzzled at her neck, helping her lower her legs, and then began to snore, still covering her.

Obi-Wan blinked, mortified, then swathed himself in the covers again, covering his face. It was a long, long time before he dared to creep out and use the chamber pot.

Soft moans wakened him at first light; Obi-Wan blinked blearily, realizing they were at it again. He sighed, rolling to put his back toward the bed, then realized he could see them anyway, reflected in the wide full-length mirror that the prince used for dressing.

This time, the coupling didn't seem as violent as it had before; Qui-Gon had the girl's small body nestled in the crook of his. The covers had drifted away, baring their bodies. Qui-Gon gently lifted Sira's upper leg and draped it over his own. Obi-Wan sucked in a low breath, staring in amazement. The prince's male organ was exposed by the position, and he'd never seen such a sturdy masculine endowment. It seemed as long as his forearm and as thick as his wrist; surely that could not fit inside-- but with a lazy roll of his hips, the prince pushed it into the girl.

Sira moaned, her throat working as she swallowed. Her hand rose and moved behind her, to twine into Qui-Gon's hair. Satisfied with the position, the prince began to move, his erection gleaming with her fluids as he gently pumped in and out. He moved his hand down and toyed with her curls, then stroked her gently with his fingertips.

The simple gesture produced a surprising result; Sira began to keen and wail, struggling in his grasp, but he held her firmly, his other arm moving under her body so he could pinch at her nipples. She writhed, sweat breaking out on her pale skin, her thigh muscles flexing as she rode the thick shaft that penetrated her.

Rolling onto his stomach, Obi-Wan pressed his hips firmly into the ground, hoping to ease the ache. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing he could block his ears as easily. His hips rolled instinctively, a gasp of pleasure breaking from his lips, and the sudden realization that he was about to break his vow of celibacy broke over him like a pitcher of cold water.

It gave him the strength he needed to control his body and by the time Sira's shriek of completion was followed by the Prince's low moan, his erection had subsided, though his cheeks were still aflame. He pressed them into his pillow, the silk coverings welcomingly cool against his face.


	8. Chapter 8

Giving Sira one last kiss, he swatted her out of his bed, watching her wriggle into a simple white sleeping gown before disappearing through the servant's entrance. His bodyguard was awake, and had been for some time; the stiff pose of the blanketed figure gave him away. He raised himself lazily from the bed, giving the lad an rough nudge in the ribs with his toe. "She makes a fine armful, don't you think. Lusty and willing. Maybe you'd like to take an evening off and have her yourself."

He watched the lad blanch, amused. "I think she'd be just your type. Full of fire, insatiable... she keeps half this wing of the castle awake at night, as I'm sure you noticed. I trust you enjoyed your little voyeuristic interlude."

"I assure you that I did not," Kenobi answered primly. "Nor do I have any interest in availing myself of any of the... anyone's... I won't be taking any time off, my lord."

Qui-Gon laughed, a good night's rest, the rutting and his bodyguard's discomfort restoring his good humor. Having finally found a subject that so obviously bothered the seemingly unflappable young man, Qui-Gon couldn't resist teasing further. "No time off at all? You'll be polishing your hilt in front of me then? I hope you don't expect me to be as discreet as you-- I shall watch and enjoy it too!"

Kenobi's face flushed deeply and sputtered, causing Qui-Gon to go into another paroxysm of laughter. Really, if he could be promised this sort of entertainment on a regular basis, perhaps it wouldn't be too hard, having the boy as his bodyguard. "Next you'll be telling me you're a virgin, too!" he said, once he'd calmed down, breaking into laughter once more when Kenobi stiffened and refused to meet his eyes.

Oh, but under different circumstances the boy could be a joy to have around; such innocence would be sweet to taste.

Despite his early morning activities, he felt himself harden as he looked the boy up and down. The fine silk clothes were rumpled -they'd need to find Kenobi something to use as a nightshirt if he insisted on sleeping in clothing- and the odd hair cut was standing completely on end while the silly braid looked unkempt. With the crimson that still stained the high cheeks, the boy looked thoroughly debauched. Qui-Gon found himself with a strong urge to be the one doing the debauching.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so impossible after all. What would annoy his father more than to discover that his son had not only accepted a bodyguard, but had bedded him as well. Innocent as Kenobi was, and used to a cloistered life within the walls of the monastery, Qui-Gon presumed that with some small effort, he would have the boy seduced in short order.

With that pleasant thought in mind, he settled into an armchair and relaxed. "Your clothes are rumpled, but Adi has prepared more." He nodded at the wooden wardrobe on the facing wall of the room. The boy blushed yet again when he realized Qui-Gon meant to watch him change, but to his credit, he stalked across and retrieved one of his few outfits from the lower hanging rod inside.

The prince, already naked, was prepared when several serving girls entered, bearing a washtub and kettles of boiling water. Other servants brought buckets of cool, and they mixed it together in the tub. The prince stepped in calmly and allowed them to wash him, aware of his bodyguard's wide eyes following the process.

"There is water for you as well," Qui-Gon informed him pleasantly. His expectations were not thwarted; his bodyguard pinkened nicely. Servants moved to work his buttons, flustering the young man terribly.

He batted their hands away. "I can undress myself," he murmured, his actions belaying the words as his fingers tangled in the cinches at his waist.

Qui-Gon could not hide his smile as the boy was forced to let the servants remove his clothing and the Prince reveled in each piece of flesh as it was revealed. Kenobi's skin was pale beneath the black silk and Qui-Gon wondered if these monks ever indulged in the pleasure of the sun's touch upon their bare flesh.

He would certainly wager that Kenobi had not and his grin grew wider as he devised a plan to change that. An impromptu swimming session during an afternoon's ride should do the trick, for surely Kenobi would feel it necessary to wade into the lake to keep close to his charge. In the meantime, Kenobi was now naked, standing awkwardly beside the tub, his hands folded over his sex.

Instead of getting out of the water, Qui-Gon moved to one side--there was room enough in the wooden vessel for two, if they didn't mind standing close together.

Kenobi blinked, hesitating.

"You said you were planning to stick close to me," Qui-Gon pointed out reasonably. "Did you mean it, or not? If not, you may as well get out and never return."

"You are having a game with me, your highness," the bodyguard responded stiffly.

"And a fine game it is. You will bathe here with me or you will stink. Which will it be?"

The lad's spine snapped straight, eyes flashing with pride. He stepped over the edge of the tub, bracing himself on the rim as he sank down, none of his skin touching Qui-Gon's. He suffered the washing without speech, folding his hands over his lap. Qui-Gon smirked, knowing that he concealed an involuntary erection, his helpless reaction to being touched and washed by pretty serving maids.

"Perhaps her. Would you like me to order her to your bed?" He indicated a petite blonde. "Or her?" He pointed to the lavish curves of another girl, her shirt plastered to her body with soapy water.

"They are fine girls, I am sure." Kenobi had recovered his composure, and wore it well. "No offense to either of them, but I am comfortable on my own."

"Would you prefer a boy?" Qui-Gon raised a brow, inquiring. "Or perhaps a man might tempt you more?"

The jibe fell true, piercing Kenobi's calm once more. His bodyguard stiffened, pulling further into his corner of the tub, "I have neither the desire nor the time for a dalliance of any sort; I am here as your bodyguard and nothing will distract me from my duty."

Despite Kenobi's words, Qui-Gon believed he'd piqued the boy's interest. He let his eyes roam once more over the supple limbs of his bodyguard, enjoying the way his own body responded to the sight, and then stood, towering over the seated boy, his heavy sex dripping water just above Kenobi's eye level.

"Let me know if you change your mind." He let lazy invitation rumble in his voice, toweling himself off without hurry.

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, snatching a towel and covering his fine backside. A pity, but it would look nearly as well in the leathers Adi had provided for him to wear this day.

Qui-Gon himself dressed casually in hunter green and butter- soft leather boots, looking forward to his planned outing. And to the evening ahead. If he didn't succeed in seducing the boy today, he thought he would ask for Sira to bring a companion with her when she came to his bed; exercise and fresh air always put a keen edge on his senses. And it would be fun to taunt his bodyguard.

He slung his cloak over his shoulder and raked back his hair. "Whenever you are ready," he stated with exaggerated politeness.

Obi-Wan just clenched his jaw and started walking, still buckling his belt. "After you, my lord."


	9. Chapter 9

Qui-Gon carried the conversation as they walked to the dining hall, refusing to alter his gait to accommodate Kenobi. The subject turned to their upcoming hunt, the Prince extolling the abundance of game to be found in the King's forest. While Kenobi remained silent, he seemed as keen on the subject of hunting as he was regarding sex, which stopped Qui-Gon short.

"You do hunt, don't you?"

"Of course," replied the boy. "At the monastery we are reliant upon no one but ourselves for our survival. We hunt and trap for food and clothing as well as harvest grains, vegetables and fruits."

"But you don't approve of hunting for sport," suggested Qui- Gon, reading the unspoken words.

Kenobi shrugged. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove of my lord's activities."

"But you do have an opinion," Qui-Gon commented lazily.

"You make war far better with words than you do with swords."

"A talent that is valuable to any prince, and more so to any king," Qui-Gon returned soberly, and Obi-Wan inclined his head, granting the point.

They made their way into the dining room with time to spare, showing considerably more grace than the previous evening. Obi-Wan seated himself by Qui-Gon again and they waited as the court trickled in. Most of the same people as yesterday, minus a few-- particularly among the younger gentry. However, nearly all of the diplomats, including the dukes and earls, were present.

Qui-Gon searched their faces for memories of the previous day's events; it was well to keep apprised of which nobles might be sympathetic to him and which might be his enemies. Unfortunately, his enemies were usually too subtle to betray themselves via their facial expressions; the few smiles he saw were mostly from cloth-brained fops and flip-skirts who thought of little more than themselves at any time, and were certainly incapable of fomenting serious discord.

His father, whose joints were painful in the mornings, had not ordered a place set for himself, and the meal began as soon as Qui-Gon was seated.

Obi-Wan sipped his juice, then handed over the glass reverently. "I hope you've no contagious diseases," Qui-Gon groused quietly, accepting it.

"None, I assure you, my lord. I have always treated my body as a temple." The suddenly chagrined look on Kenobi's face told Qui-Gon that the insult implicit in the words had not been intended and, in the spirit of their current unexpected camaraderie and his plans of seduction, he let it pass.

Kenobi offered a smile in return, this one more genuine and lighting his face in a manner his usual cool smile did not. Qui-Gon felt his sex stir and he let his own smile grow, looking forward to the coming evening more than ever.

When a servant brought by a tray of his favorite sweet breads, Qui-Gon helped himself to several and then passed his plate to Kenobi. It was accepted with a slight incline of the boy's head and Kenobi took a small bite from the corner of one. Drawing the plate back, the Prince had the delicacy half way to his own mouth when he noticed the oddest look come over Kenobi's face and then the food was dashed from his hand.

Kenobi leaped from his seat, the tray of sweet breads flying to the floor with a crash as the boy wrapped his hand in the servant's shirt.

"What's the meaning of this?" roared Qui-Gon.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Kenobi, shaking the servant, who cowered within his grasp. "Who paid you to poison the Prince?" he demanded.

The server blanched white, shaking. "I... I... I did not poison the Prince! I took those sweet breads from the table in the kitchen and brought them out, as I always do!"

"Surely you're overreacting, young man." Palpatine intervened, his smile reassuring. "You are, after all, from a rustic setting, unused to the rich spices and dishes served here at court."

"Look!" a woman cried, her voice loud with fright. Qui-Gon did; he winced to realize that one of the ladies' spaniels had snapped up the breads and lay on its side, whimpering.

"It appears the breads are poisoned," Qui-Gon observed calmly. "Perhaps an accident has happened."

"A poison that strong is no accident," Obi-Wan commented acidly, not releasing the servant. He jerked his head toward the floor; the dog's ribs were longer moving.

"And you?" Qui-Gon looked at him with sudden concern.

"I spat out the morsel as soon as I tasted the toxin. Call guards; have the kitchen staff held. I want to question them."

Qui-Gon frowned. "I see no reason to suspect any of them-- clearly this is the work of someone with a knowledge of such things. Where would a servant get such a thing, for starters."

"Who knows which dish you will eat, without a doubt? The servants. Who are always in sight of the food--in the kitchen, in the hall, here? The servants. While they may not have poisoned you themselves, without a doubt one of them knows something. And unless we get to the bottom of this, it will happen again and again and again until I fail and you are dead!" Kenobi's voice rose with each word until he was shouting, his voice made even louder by the hush that had fallen over the assembled guests.

He seemed to visibly calm himself as Qui-Gon watched, astounded and amazed at the power and beauty of this man in full passion. His voice was quite calm when he continued. "If my lord values his own life so little, I will, by all means, let this man go and we may continue with our repast."

Qui-Gon subsided reluctantly; he had no desire to die, that much was certain. The spaniel lying on the floor was ample evidence that Obi-Wan's concerns were sincere indeed. "Very well. But I shall be present at the questioning."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan agreed. "I thinkd in from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Qui-Gon sat back and watched as Obi-wan questioned his staff. He would not allow Kenobi to torture them; they were a simple and loyal bunch. Well, all except for one perhaps, for surely Kenobi was right someone must have conspired to allow this to have happened.

His bodyguard made no move to touch any of them. Instead he questioned them, sitting them one by one on a chair and speaking quietly, but seriously to them, his stare intent. Several of the girls were crying quietly by the time Kenobi had finished questioning them all, but under Qui-Gon's watchful eye he had harmed none of them. Having finished, the boy stepped back and addressed them as a whole. "Thank you for your cooperation. I know that this is upsetting for you; it is upsetting for all of us. However, the Prince's safety is our primary concern, I'm sure you will agree. I ask you, all of you, if you see anything suspicious, please report it immediately to the Prince or myself."

The servants nodded and Qui-Gon couldn't help but be impressed with Kenobi's people skills as they all seemed to stand taller, their pride restored in being given a role to play in keeping him safe.

"If you would all stay here while we question the rest of the kitchen staff, the chamberlain will let you know when you may resume your duties." Kenobi turned to Qui-Gon. "My lord?" Qui-Gon nodded and rose from his seat, feeling the tension return as they headed for the kitchen.

The domestic staff were assembled there; Anakin was there as well, clinging to his mother's skirts and looking as though he couldn't decide whether to cry like a child or act like a young man. Qui-Gon opened his arms and the lad rushed into them, clutching him with a child's devotion. "Did you eat any of the bad sweetbread?"

"No, Anakin. I didn't." He smoothed the lad's hair and drew him into his lap. "Obi-Wan saved me from the poison. You must thank him when there is time."

"I will. I'm glad he saved you." Anakin settled on his lap, watching as Obi-Wan conducted a thorough examination of the kitchen. The young monk sniffed at everything he touched, occasionally lifting his fingers to his tongue, tasting part of a dish.

At last he stopped, holding a jar of flour. "This is the poison," he stated flatly.

Shmi started, looking dismayed. "All the dishes using flour were prepared from that container." Her frown pinched. "The entire breakfast will have to be buried."

"See to it," Qui-Gon instructed the chamberlain.

"Yes, your highness." He hurried out.

"That isn't all," Shmi frowned. "Where is Joram? Did you question him in the hall?"

"Joram was not in the hall," one of the maids piped up. "We thought he had remained in the kitchen."

Obi-Wan looked between them, his expression inscrutable. "Then you believe Joram placed poison powder in the flour."

"He must have... everyone else is here!" Shmi's hands clutched in her skirts, betraying her nerves.

"Did you tell him to put the poison there?" Obi-Wan's voice fell into the chamber with deadly, soft grace.

"That is enough." Qui-Gon rumbled, equally dangerous, as he set Anakin aside. "She is not under suspicion."

Anakin ran to his mother this time, and held her protectively. He threw a confused glare at Obi-Wan; Shmi's hands moved to caress his back and hair.

"She has the motive, your highness. What motive do any of these others have? What motive could Joram have had?"

"She is not guilty."

"There is no proof that she is," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "But there is also no proof that she is not."

"There is my knowledge. Shmi has served me since I was a lad of nineteen." Qui-Gon stepped to her side and laid his hand on her shoulder. "She is dearer to me than any but my son. You will not accuse her again." The very mildness of his tone shivered the entire room with threat.

"Very well. But I shall suspect her until such time as I have proof." Obi-Wan met his gaze without flinching.

Qui-Gon felt his anger build, rising in him at this upstart's refusal to take his word. Shmi was the one person who had never asked him to change, who had always, with unflagging love and support, accepted him for who and what he was. The very idea that she could in any way be involved in this attempt on his life was preposterous. He stepped forward, intent on striking Kenobi where he stood, on making the boy recant his words.

A soft touch against his back stayed him. Shmi's palm flattened over his spine, a gentle caress calming his rage. "It is his job," she whispered, her voice unhappy but threaded with steel. "He cannot find your enemy if he is dead."

Qui-Gon inclined his head in her direction and stepped back again, watching Kenobi carefully, making sure his bodyguard realized that it had been Shmi's words that had stayed him.

"Are you done." It was clearly not a question, and Kenobi gave him a half bow.

"As you wish, my lord."


	10. Chapter 10

Qui-Gon rode his stallion hard, not caring whether or not his bodyguard was able to keep up. In fact, he'd be happier if Kenobi got lost in the woods.

The Prince barely saw the towering trees that threw a high canopy of green above him and the thunder of Sebulba's heels beneath him barely penetrated past the conversation that was replaying in his head. How dare this boy come barging into his castle, his life, his very bedroom, and then make accusations against the one person in the castle Qui-Gon trusted most? Shmi's door and her heart had always been open to him, ever since she was a lass of seventeen and he was in his late teens. A bond had formed between them even before she conceived his child. Anakin's birth had only made it stronger. If Qui-Gon could have taken another wife under the moral laws of the kingdom, he'd have married her long ago.

But Shmi was an odd woman, decisive and willful and wise in ways that Qui-Gon suspected he would never fully comprehend. He'd offered to make her his consort and keep her in riches at one of his country estates, or if she liked, to give her fine lodgings within the palace itself, but she preferred her simple kitchen and her homely ways. Though many of the lords and ladies at court looked down on her, Qui-Gon respected her and cherished her differences, protecting her in any way that situations required. That would not change now.

He knew deep in his heart that she did not have anything to do with the poisoning. Who better than Shmi knew the drawbacks of being the Prince Regent? She had no desire to thrust her son into that role, certainly not before it was necessary, and she loved him almost as much as she loved their son. She accepted him for who he was and had never tried to change him. There wasn't another single soul he could say that about.

The ring of Kenobi's horse's hooves on the hard-packed forest floor interrupted his thoughts.

"An odd way to hunt," remarked the bodyguard.

"I'm in no mood for company, boy," growled Qui-Gon.

The young man fell silent, riding a half-length back. Qui-Gon pondered their options, looking at the sweat beginning to lather on his horse's withers beneath the reins. He did not want to harm the beast, so he slowed. Kenobi maintained his position, following while the Prince stewed. He'd come away in a hurry, neglecting to bring his hounds or his falcon or even his bow. There would be no hunting today.

A sparkle of water caught his eye through the silvery tree- trunks; they'd already reached the lake near the outer boundary of the castle grounds. The overworked horses would need to be walked and allowed to drink sparingly. He angled them toward the lake. Perhaps a dip in its mountain stream- fed waters would cool his temper. Turning Sebulba's head in that direction, he let the stallion slow some more, using the distance they had yet to travel to cool the horse.

Kenobi's horse also slowed, and the bodyguard drew even once more with the Prince and Qui-Gon could see that Kenobi's horse looked even more worse for wear than his own.

"You would have me play the fool for you," Qui-Gon said, voice rough.

"I would have you live," Kenobi answered evenly. "I realize that it galls you to have me at your side day and night, testing your food and searching your bed partners, but even you must admit that there is just cause for your father to take this measure. I wouldn't be much of a bodyguard if I didn't suspect everyone and everything."

He didn't want to admit anything of the kind. He'd much rather dismiss the boy out of hand, citing insult to the Prince Regent's chosen consort. Except Kenobi was right. If it hadn't been for him, it would have been Qui-Gon himself lying on the floor, breathing his last, instead of the unfortunate hound. Reluctant though he was to give it, he realized that Kenobi had earned his grudging respect for that.

"We have much to discuss regarding your methods and tact," Qui-Gon stated flatly. "I approve of your results, but you will obtain them more diplomatically."

Obi-Wan just chuckled softly. "With respect, that seems an irony coming from you."

Qui-Gon shot the lad a sharp glance from beneath lowered brows. "Your disrespect, at least, seems universal."

"Do not confuse fawning with respect or responsibility."

Qui-Gon shook his head, exasperated. Their horses passed from beneath the canopy into the high morning sunshine, their hooves thudding dully on tended grass. "Do the monks teach the art of conversation to their novices, or do you come by your sharp tongue naturally?"

"Both, I think." Obi-Wan was serene as the mirrored surface of the lake, gazing with pleasure at the hilly vista beyond its boundaries.

Qui-Gon felt the need to break that smoothness, to be the stone that sent ripples through his bodyguard. He felt his ire finally begin to give way beneath the desire to bring Kenobi's emotions to the surface. He could picture the boy, naked beneath him, face alight with passion, eyes glazed over as Qui-Gon filled him.

Leaning back his head, the Prince closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the sun, hot against his skin, and the wind as it whistled over his face and through his beard. The horse moved easily beneath him, the great beast's hooves kicking up the ground, releasing the scent of hay and sweet clover into the air.

Sebulba slowed as they neared the water and Qui-Gon opened his eyes, sitting properly in saddle once more. The lake beckoned, the wind blowing playful waves that broke the harsh glint of the sun's rays along its surface. It was peaceful and felt far removed from any hint of civilization.

Kenobi's horse nickered gently and the Prince glanced over, admiring the boy as he sat easily in his saddle. In his haste and anger, Qui-Gon had left the castle unprepared for the hunt, but there was one beast for which he needed no tools to hunt and his smile became predatory.


	11. Chapter 11

Obi-Wan sensed the lightening of the Prince's mood; something about the set of his shoulders indicated that he was unbending from the rigid anger that had possessed him in the wake of the poisoning. Obi-Wan knew better than to take it personally; if someone had tried to poison him, he would be out of sorts also.

Qui-Gon's attempts to convince him of Shmi's innocence only made him more stubbornly determined to maintain his suspicion. Who better to serve as a poisoner than the one person the victim trusted?

He dismounted in the Prince's wake, following his example and letting his horse touch its mouth to the clear water. After a brief drink, they walked the animals along the turf, its cool green muffling their footsteps. A fish leaped out in the lake, its silver body flashing in the bright sunlight. He realized that Qui-Gon had stopped, looping the reins around a low tree branch. Calmly he shed his cloak, then his belt. When the tunic also went, Obi-Wan blinked, realizing that his charge meant to undress completely.

He turned back to his horse, brushing the mare's mane and rubbing her nose. She nickered softly to him, nosing the sleeves of his robe and he dug into his belt for a carrot, feeding it to her and waiting for the telltale splash of the Prince entering the water.

It didn't come. Concerned, he was about to turn when a hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump. "Come on then, you'd better lose the clothing if you're going to join me in the lake," Qui-Gon suggested.

Obi-Wan turned, coloring as he realized the Prince was quite nude. Keeping his eyes firmly on Qui-Gon's face he shook his head. "I think I'll stay on shore."

"Nonsense. You're the one who insists on being by my side night and day. You taste my food for Sith's sake. What if I get a cramp? Or if what if someone is lying in wait beneath the water, ready to spring at me with a knife the moment you're out of range?"

"They'd have to have awfully good breath control," Obi-Wan commented drily.

"Maybe they've been practicing," suggested Qui-Gon, grinning, his hand still warmly curved over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"And I take it I am supposed to bring my sword into the water, the better to defend you."

"I would never ask a man to leave behind his sword," Qui-Gon responded smoothly, his voice a purr. Obi-Wan blinked, covering his surprise as he turned his back to undo his belt buckle. The Prince was right; it was his duty to stick close... but he was altogether uncertain what was really happening here. Perhaps, having lost several battles in his quest to rid himself of Obi-Wan's presence, the Prince was preparing to try a subtler tactic.

Well. If seduction was the tactic his Prince intended to employ, it certainly wasn't a tactic that had any chance of success. His oath of celibacy would see to that. Confident, Obi-Wan skimmed out of his clothes. He'd spent most of his life sharing communal privies and ablutions. He knew he had no cause for shame in his body; it was not the body that was shameful, but rather the thoughts of the mind that ruled it. "Is the water warm?"

"I doubt it!" exclaimed Qui-Gon, taking a single step back and folding his arms across his chest. The Prince watched him disrobing with casual regard, though there was definitely a glint of something else in his eyes.

"We could keep each other warm, if the need arises." The Prince spoke in a low tone, a genuine smile on his lips, the warmest expression he'd yet to share with Obi-Wan.

Despite his resolve, Obi-Wan found himself blushing under the warm regard. It seemed the Prince could be very charismatic, when he cared to be.

"I'm not afraid of a little cold water," he said softly as he slid his breeches from his hips. He could feel the caress of the Prince's eyes, and it warmed him-- with embarrassment. The first time he'd ever felt such a thing, embarrassment from feeling a man's eyes on his body. It shriveled his manhood, which he supposed was a good thing; there would be less of it to be chilled by the frigid lake water.

Perhaps that same water would cool the Prince's ardor as well.

He set out toward the lake without looking back, walking down a narrow sandy shore to the water's edge and walking in without slowing. It was cold as winter, sending aching spikes of sensation shooting through his skin.

"How cold is it?"

"It's quite pleasant," he lied, walking deeper.

The Prince snorted, not fooled. "That water is snow-melt from the Atrian Glacier," he commented dryly. "It could freeze the balls off a statue."

"At the monastery, we are far closer to the glacier than you," Obi-Wan commented mildly and launched himself in a full-length dive, cutting the water cleanly. Best to get the pain over with right away; then all his tender nerves would be numbed.

He shrieked underwater, bubbles rising, but the Prince would not hear him. He could practically feel his capillaries closing. When he rose, he flipped back his wet braid, staring a challenge toward the shore. "I thought you meant to swim."

He couldn't quite make out the Prince's expression from this distance, though he was pretty sure the smile was gone. He had to give the man credit, for Qui-Gon strode forward without a pause, not flinching in the slightest as he waded waist-deep into the water.

"Refreshing," said the Prince tightly, and Obi-Wan laughed, genuine pleasure rushing through him for the first time since he'd arrived at the castle. Ignoring the cold, he dove once more beneath the surface, cutting easily through the water. He could feel the Prince swim up to him, the large body displacing the water around him, and they broke the surface together.

He blinked water out of his eyes, taking a prudent step back. If cold glacier water didn't discourage the man... already Obi-Wan was near the point of uncontrollable shuddering.

"The water is invigorating, don't you think?" Prince Qui-Gon watched him closely. Of course. The big man had more body fat as well as more muscle than he, and could generate more heat. Whereas Obi-Wan, with his whip-slim, lean body, lost what reserves he had almost instantly.

"Quite." He managed to bite back the chatter of his teeth for a single syllable.

"You do not seem to be enjoying it." Qui-Gon lay back, floating lazily.

"I am a simple man, not given to luxuriating in decadent pleasures." The chattering of his teeth betrayed him, and Qui-Gon laughed.

"If you are given to martyrdom, self-flagellation, and denial, as many monastic orders are, then I would think that you should find this lake most pleasant."

"It is indeed pleasant, but there is no need to mortify sinless flesh." Giving up, he made for the shore.

"Is your flesh truly sinless?" Genuine curiosity, a note of surprise, and a swirl of water followed. Before he reached the shore, Qui-Gon was behind him, and he felt wet fingers trace up the line of his hip. He flinched and sidestepped, then doggedly resumed his progress toward shore.

"You've never known the touch of a man... or of a woman?" The Prince sounded shocked. Obi-Wan didn't gratify him with an answer. The warmth of the sun felt too good on his chilled skin, and he sensed he could not come out well in such a conversation no matter how he tried.

"I teased you earlier, true, but by the Gods, I didn't believe... at your age..." Qui-Gon's voice trailed away. "I was sincere in my offer. The castle has many willing maids."

"I shall arrange my own affairs," Obi-Wan informed him tartly.

"You're a fine lad, well-formed. It can't be from lack of offers," Qui-Gon mused, undeterred. "You are satisfactorily endowed, also. Perhaps your blood is cold."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, for the sake of being left alone. "Perhaps it is."

"If that is the case..." the Prince paused. "I assure you. It will be warmed."

Obi-Wan did not like the certainty in his tone, but there seemed no more to be said. His clothing had been left in a neat pile in the crook of the tree where they'd tied the horses and Obi-Wan slowly made his way there, enjoying the soft grasses under his bare feet and the sun's touch upon his body.

Innocent of the touch of man or woman, he nonetheless found deep pleasure in nature's caress. At the monastery it would not be usual to find one or several of the monks in the meadows and woods that surrounded the building, in naked communion with nature. At moments like this, his calling felt strong and true; he was close to the center of power inside himself, the part of him that connected him to everything.

A gentle touch startled him from his reverie as the Prince dried him with the soft velvet of his royal cloak. He stiffened as the material slid between his shoulder blades, moving sensuously down the length of his spine.

"Careful, little monk." The Prince's voice purred at his ear. "It would not do to insult his majesty by rejecting his aid."

His body twitched, and he recognized the first flicker of arousal with alarm. It was a result of everything combined; the events of the night before and all the talk of flesh and sex; his mind had become receptive to suggestion. He would have to remedy that in meditation. He snatched his tunic and patted himself dry quickly, in conjunction with Qui-Gon's touch, hindering the Prince as much as possible. He felt better once he'd stepped into his breeches and pulled them up again. The covering made him feel safe, and he turned.

Qui-Gon stood in the sunlight, his wet velvet cloak a rich puddle about his feet, basking in the light. Drops of water still clung to his body, streaming down from his wet hair. He too was a fine man, well-formed and generously endowed. No wonder Sira had taken such pleasure in him.

Obi-Wan turned back to the horses quickly, ignoring the chuckle his haste produced. Suddenly, his face went white. "Your Highness..." his voice commanded, and Qui-Gon stepped to his shoulder, teasing forgotten.

Obi-Wan slid his fingers under Sebulba's girth-strap, which had been cut at the base of the saddle. Nearly three-quarters of its width had been severed cleanly, and the remainder had frayed even further. It hung by a few tenacious millimeters of strained leather. "If it had broken while you galloped..." there was no need to say more.

"You have been here two days and already there have been two attempts on my life. That is more than in the entirety of the last year," Qui-Gon mused.

"All the better that I arrived when I did," Obi-Wan muttered, his face tense.

"Some might say it's cause to suspect you as the assassin."

Obi-Wan went even whiter, his face pained. "That would make me a pretty poor assassin, having twice foiled my own attempts."

"It is as logical as suspecting Shmi, and perhaps more, for she has earned my trust over many years. You might be attempting to accelerate the process of earning trust for your own purposes." Qui-Gon moved to Obi-Wan's mount, unfastening its saddle. "We will ride together on Sebulba when we return to the castle. He is the stronger horse."

Obi-Wan nodded; the day no longer seemed as bright, and the woods were filled with shadows. When Qui-Gon hauled him into the saddle, he sat before the Prince with his mind racing, hardly noticing the strong warm arm that slid around his waist.

Qui-Gon clicked his tongue to Sebulba and they started back to the castle at a slow amble, Obi-Wan's horse trailing behind.


	12. Chapter 12

The ride back to the castle took far longer than the ride out. Sebulba was a great stallion, but even he could not be pushed while carrying two men. The land was beautiful, the grass green with health, the trees reaching eagerly for the skies, but Qui-Gon barely registered it. He was angry again. Twice an assassin had struck and twice been thwarted. How dare this happen!

He'd only been half serious about Kenobi being the assassin, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility and the fact that he didn't know who to trust anymore bothered him greatly.

Kenobi seemed distracted, leaning against him in a way he wouldn't have thought possible of the stiff-necked monk. "Qui-Gon," the boy spoke his name quietly, but fiercely.

"What?"

"You musn't trust anyone. This is imperative. Not Shmi. Not myself, no one. Until we know who is behind these attempts it is your safest recourse."

He blinked, not prepared for the lad to include himself in his proscriptions. "I will keep it in mind," He began to promise, then he saw what had disturbed his bodyguard: the castle was seething like an anthill, guards and drudges waving their arms for attention as the horses neared the gate. "Something has happened." He spurred Sebulba for an extra bit of speed, one that would not be incapacitating since they were so near the end of their journey.

The babble of voices made it impossible to extract sense from any single report, but he picked out "Joram" and "west tower" and turned Sebulba's head in that direction, nudging through the mass of distraught domestics. There was a wide empty circle with a heap of rags lying in it at the base of the tower-- no. Not rags. A body. His nostrils caught the scent of death and blood; Sebulba tossed his head and whinnied with distress. He was a riding stallion, not a warhorse, and such things troubled him, but he could not rear with the twin burden he bore.

"Let's climb down." Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan down onto the cobblestones and together they approached the body. The Prince spied Anakin, twisting and turning his head to stare at the carnage in spite of Shmi's attempts to keep his face hidden in her skirts. "Take the boy out of here," he directed curtly. When she had obeyed, he turned Joram to his back, grimacing at the sight of the caved-in face.

"Dead men tell no tales." Obi-Wan lifted his head, glancing at the assembly and then up at the castle, where many faces gazed down from windows, embrasures, and parapets. "Joram did not work alone in this."

Qui-Gon nodded reluctant agreement. "Take the horses," he snapped, catching a groom's eye. "This must be reported to the King."

"If I could just have a moment to examine the body," Kenobi asked softly, "then I will accompany you."

Qui-Gon nodded, watching through narrowed eyes as Kenobi made a quick examination of the man, checking his bones and beneath the nails of his hands. He looked back up along the tower and nodded once to himself, but said nothing.

"Thank you."

Qui-Gon grunted and then turned to the stable hands, who were lingering nearby. "Take the body to the graveyard and give him a proper burial in Pauper's Corner." Turning on his heel, he headed for his father's chambers, knowing without looking that Kenobi had fallen into step behind him.

The King awaited them in his audience chamber, his hands clutching his cane on his knee. He looked old and careworn, nodding slowly when Qui-Gon recited the details of the day's events. "Your new bodyguard has arrived just in time," he commented soberly. "The two of you must take additional care." He rose and tottered toward his window, gazing down into the gardens.

"Since the birth of your son, many people see opportunity. Once they believed that when I left, you would rule and leave no issue. The loss of the future Queen encouraged the jackals to bide their time, believing that your childlessness would eventually leave the ascension open to question. But since the birth of your son..."

He stopped, coughing, and pulled a cloth out of his robe, wiping his mouth with it. "I am aging, and he is vulnerable. With you gone, it would be easy to eliminate me and then control Anakin. There would be no contest over power then."

"You'll live forever." Qui-Gon's confident tone didn't match the sudden pain in his eyes.

"Death is a part of me," the King stared at the bright beam of sunlight flooding in through the window. "You must be ready when it comes, my son."

"You have prepared me all my life for a role that I have increasingly grown to believe I would never fulfill. It's something I've hated you for, for a very long time. " The Prince watched his father as the old man slowly hobbled back to his throne. When he reached out and offered his father his hand, Yoda took it, letting Qui-Gon help him up the stairs of the dais. It was something the king had never done before. "You're dying, aren't you?" he asked.

Yoda nodded once. Eyes still bright with the light of intelligence held fast to his own and Qui-Gon felt his anger fade, his frustrations easing in the face of the hard reality. "I always harbored a secret hope that you would step down for me. Counsel me behind the scenes."

"Ready you were not."

"And now?"

"Now you must be ready."

Qui-Gon executed a deep bow, hair brushing against the floor. "As you command." He raised himself, searching for further words, and Yoda raised a gnarled hand. It shook with palsy, something that would have seemed unthinkable even a year ago. "Seek the assassin and protect my grandson," he spoke, the words more like a benediction than a command.

Qui-Gon nodded and turned, leaving without further words. He was aware that Obi-Wan bowed as well, and followed in his wake. Qui-Gon seethed with anger, his sorrow expressing itself as irritation. He swung his still-damp cloak angrily as they left the room. Once he would have forgotten his troubles in the body of a woman, turning to pleasure with eager passion. Today, choosing a woman would have felt petty and foolish.

"Your father is a great man."

"Shut up," Qui-Gon snapped.

"I grieve with you."

"If you will not be silent, you will share Joram's fate."

"An interesting comment. The crowd speculated that he had jumped rather than risk detection and capture. I believe he was pushed."

Qui-Gon glowered at his bodyguard, wondering if the man hadn't heard. "What brings you to believe this?"

"There was skin under his nails. He struggled with an attacker."

"Then we need only look for someone with scratches." Anger metamorphosed into keen purpose.

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan conceded, but Qui-Gon was already bellowing for the head chamberlain to assemble everyone in the castle for inspection.

It was like the questioning that morning all over again, the servants lined up and whispering fearfully amongst themselves as they awaited their turn at inspection. Unlike the morning, the Prince conducted the examinations himself, impatiently pushing sleeves up and collars down in order to inspect arms and necks. Kenobi himself was first in line, silently offering his skin for Qui-Gon's inspection. The Prince didn't have to look to know there would be no marks-- the boy had never left his side.

Two of the grooms sported cuts and bruises, but Kenobi quietly pointed to their shapes, comparing them to the fists of both men and it was quickly evidenced that they had come to blows early that morning. When all the servants but one had been examined, Qui-Gon turned reluctantly to Shmi, motioning her to stand before him in the patch of bright sunlight streaming through the casement.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, unable to meet her eyes. She said nothing, only stood quietly as he pushed up the sleeves of her dress and the pushed back the collar from around her neck. There was a small bruise on her neck and he fingered it sadly, immediately recognizing the fading circle as a mark of his own passion.

Her arms, however, bore several fresh scratches and he reared back in shock.

"Ani had a nightmare last night," she told him evenly. "You know how he gets until he comes out of it."

"I do," he said hoarsely. "He's a deep sleeper, and always been prone to nightmares."

"There are others in the castle," Shmi pointed out. "Nobles and courtiers." Her dark eyes rested on his.

"They will be examined as soon as they may be gathered." Qui-Gon felt the hoarseness in his throat. "I will find out who has done this. But until that time..." he stroked his knuckles down her cheek gently.

"Perhaps you would care for a vacation? You have always worked harder than you must."

"I will accept your offer." Shmi's eyes fell. "I look forward to the time when I may return." Qui-Gon leaned forward quickly, whispering in her ear, and she nodded without looking up.

"Everyone is dismissed," he spoke evenly, angry that the assembly had witnessed Shmi's embarrassment. "Return to your duties at once." He avoided Obi-Wan's eyes as they strode from the room.

"Was that wise?" asked his bodyguard, undeterred by his manner.

"She will take Anakin with her. If she is not here, she cannot be the assassin and he will be safe until we have found the person who is responsible for this outrage."

"Very well. I only hope the boy has a father to return to."

"That will be for you to ensure, won't it," snapped Qui-Gon.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Kenobi incline his head in silent agreement, the monk's damnable calm grating at the Prince's nerves.


	13. Chapter 13

I didn't expect those fools to send him a half-trained boy as a bodyguard. His father has grown senile indeed to accept such a thing. It is all the better that they sent who they did. My influence may be stronger there than I had hoped.

The Prince and his new pet return in a single saddle, leading the second horse, but neither looks harmed. It is unfortunate. One of the problems dealing with underlings is that they tend to fail; they are cheap and easily replaceable for all of that, and I have many.

A flurry greets them at the gate. The death is already discovered, then. It is an advantage of underlings that they may be disposed of without regret. That does much to balance their tendencies toward failure.

The boy sits upright in the Prince's saddle, red-gold sun caught in his hair. I could not have selected a better distraction if I had made the choice myself. The Prince will crave him, of course. He has a taste for boys, though he does not often indulge it. I suspect he's already tried to find his way into the lad's breeches. The oath of celibacy that those pitiful fools take won't last long amidst the decadence of the court.

I pull my cowl back so that I can't be seen at the embrasure when they proceed through the courtyard below.

They move toward the west tower, not pausing to dismount. The lad is before Qui-Gon in the saddle, snuggled up against the Prince like a lover; I shall have to make inquiries to find out if it is so. I ponder the best way to obtain this knowledge... yes. She will know. She has always been among my most useful sources.

The lad sits in the saddle well, his lean hips pressed tightly into the cradle of the Prince's legs. He looks a sweet, toothsome bit; I wouldn't mind fucking him myself, though he might find it... unpleasant. Perhaps the opportunity will arise, after he has failed. I look forward to it. I think that I will enjoy listening to his screams.

They climb down warily, and examine the body sprawled ungracefully on the cobbles. Even from here I can see the blood smeared on the stones. Joram was a fool. Easily bought, easily disposed of. Most people are, once you learn their weaknesses.

The boy, Anakin, is with them, his mother pulling him to her, hiding his face in her skirts. There is my prize; once I have the father out of the way the new crown prince will be mine. The mind of a boy is so much easier to influence.

While disposing of a King is a more delicate matter than killing a Prince, I have made my beginning there as well. I am a patient man. The kingdom is within my grasp, I can feel it; she waits for me as a maiden waits for her true lover to take her to the greatest heights.

Soon, my beauty.


	14. Chapter 14

Qui-Gon could not outdistance his persistent bodyguard, but Kenobi effaced himself after they arrived in his chambers, leaning against the lintel so quietly he might have been part of the furniture. He could not believe that he had just sent Shmi away. The one person he trusted most, the one who loved him most in spite of anything, and he'd been forced to hurt her.

He took a deep breath and began to write out orders for a suitable retinue. She and Anakin would require protection; ten guards should do. All battle proven veterans whose loyalty to the throne was beyond question... if anyone's could be in such times.

It was not that he would miss the sex; Shmi warmed his bed infrequently these days, occupied with raising their son. But he would miss her companionship, the knowledge of her presence and support, and the rare times when she came to his bed herself instead of sending a serving maid for his pleasure. He thought of the fading passion mark she wore, made by his mouth. It might be the last, and that grieved him deeply.

He rang the bell and Sira appeared with amazing alacrity.

"That was quick," commented Kenobi, soft-voiced from where he lounged. The girl grew pink, but bowed sweetly saying, "I knew my lord would need me and waited for his call." Qui-Gon turned to his bodyguard, eyebrows raised. Kenobi shrugged, but the Prince noticed that his eyes never left the girl.

Sealing his orders with wax and leaving the impression from his ring upon it, he handed the scroll to the girl. "These are my orders regarding Shmi's departure. They are to be placed directly in Captain Panaka's hand, is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," she replied, curtsying. Qui-Gon watched in amusement as she shot a glare at his bodyguard, but if Kenobi noticed he gave no sign.

"Do you plan on glowering at everyone who comes in contact with me?" snapped Qui-Gon.

Kenobi lifted his shoulder, an almost imperceptible shrug, ashout at the boy. "I shall come to supervise," he spoke darkly. "Return to tell the Chamberlain that I am on my way."

"Yes, Your Highness." He bobbed a bow and trotted away even faster than he'd come.

Qui-Gon swept a fresh, dry cloak around himself and set out, pushing through the door with a determined gait that looked as though it would as easily have carried him through the stone wall. Wincing, Obi-Wan fell in behind him. Life in this court was certainly entertaining, if nothing else.

Qui-Gon moved fast and by the time Obi-Wan narrowed the few feet of distance between them, he was already sweeping into the audience chamber. Indignant voices petitioned him immediately, and he overwhelmed them with a bellow.

"If you are innocent you have nothing to fear! Anyone who does not submit to this inspection is welcome to leave the castle, and then the kingdom!"

That silenced them, for the most part, and the Chamberlain sidled up to the Prince. "Your Highness, several of the nobles refused the summons."

"Send messengers to tell them to present themselves here within the hour, or their positions and properties are forfeit." Qui-Gon's cold order made the assembly fall entirely silent, blinking with shock; a few servants scuttled in and out, but that was all. Kenobi settled against the wall behind him and Qui-Gon turned to glare at him, but the boy seemed unconcerned, watching the room with hooded eyes.

Qui-Gon moved to stand next to him, affecting the same easy-going pose. "What do you think?" he asked, nodding at the assemblage.

"I think you haven't made any friends with this move."

"You think it was a mistake?" Qui-Gon was surprised. Kenobi certainly hadn't shown any more respect for the guests than he had for the servants.

"I think that a king needs to be a diplomat as well as a warrior," the boy replied and Qui-Gon felt his anger come to the fore again.

"You would lecture me on the points of rulership now?"

"My lord asked."

"How dare-" he closed his mouth abruptly as he realized he was yelling, all eyes turning toward them with undisguised curiosity. His attempt to calm himself was further hampered by the approving smile Kenobi seemed to be giving his efforts. He looked away from the infuriating monk, focusing instead on the assembled peerage.

Lady Ysidrine, whose spaniel had eaten the poisoned sweetbread, was weeping quietly on her husband's arm, while he petted her ineffectually, looking as if he would like very much to be crying himself. Several others bristled and glared as he caught their eyes. Only Palpatine seemed unaffected, his unctuous smile revealing far too many far too white teeth.

"I've tipped my hand," he said quietly, knowing Kenobi would hear him.

"I would say so, my lord."

Qui-Gon squashed the annoyance that rose at the boy's smug tone. "And what would you have done differently?"

"Something more subtle. Perhaps a private audience with each; a discreet search would have at the very least eliminated a number of them."

"I suppose so," Qui-Gon allowed grudgingly.

"Once again you have allowed your anger to best you," Kenobi said softly.

"Perhaps." Qui-Gon shot a sharp look at the boy. "Unless we are in fact chasing our own tails."

"My lord?"

"I have only your word for it that there was any tissue beneath Joram's fingernails. Perhaps we will find no scratches, because there are none to be found."

To his great annoyance, Kenobi's puzzled look turned into delight. "You're learning," he said softly.


	15. Chapter 15

As Qui-Gon examined the nobles who had come, the missing ones filed in slowly, their faces blank and sullen by turns. Kenobi had been right; forcing them down here after accusing them outright had not been a wise choice. But it was done and there was nothing left but to conduct the examination.

He left the actual search to his bodyguard, instinctively knowing the boy's manner would put them more at ease than his own. A heavy silence blanketed the room, broken only by the rustle of cloth as each of the guests bared their arms and neck's for Kenobi's inspection.

Lady Assia demurred coyly, flirting outrageously with the boy, but he seemed oblivious, making her examination with the same efficiency as he had with the others. Valorum stepped up next, the first of those who had come late, after an initial refusal of the summons.

His face was nearly as white as his hair, his lips tight-set. He looked past Obi-Wan, fixing Qui-Gon with cold blue eyes. "I have been a loyal retainer to the Jinn family since I reached majority and replaced my father. I must say that I object to the indignity of this public search and to the unreasonable punishment that will be levied against us if we refuse to submit to it!" His voice shook with anger. "We are not servants for your bidding or your bedding, Qui-Gon Jinn!"

Obi-Wan bowed slightly before him, trying to soothe his wrath. "I have submitted to the same search, sir. We all must. Surely your service to the Jinn throne extends to cooperation in a murder investigation? These times are unpleasant for us all."

Valorum shoved back his cuffs angrily, displaying his bare arms. "I think Your Highness will regret this rash act," he spoke to Qui-Gon with acid in his tone. "You will find that you have damaged valuable alliances this day. It is a pity that you are such a thoughtless pup that half the nobles of the kingdom whisper you are unfit to follow in your father's footsteps!"

Qui-Gon stiffened, feeling the sharp words keenly. Valorum's family had indeed always been among the most loyal of his father's supporters. "I regret that you feel this way," he bit out through clenched teeth. "Perhaps one day you will see the necessity in the actions I have taken."

Valorum merely huffed, refastening his sleeves and his high-collared coat. "Good day, my Prince. I believe I shall retreat to my lands, where I am treated with respect. At least while I still have them!" He summoned his daughter with a curt snap of his wrist, and she finished displaying her throat and arms to Obi-Wan quickly, following in his wake.

That was the worst of the open hostility, but many other nobles stared at Qui-Gon while they were examined, Valorum's words echoing behind their cold eyes.

Palpatine alone seemed completely undisturbed by the matter, his unctuous smile as ingratiating as ever. "I must say, my dear Prince, you do have a flair for the dramatic."

Qui-Gon just stared at him silently; he didn't care for the man's small talk even at the best of times. Palpatine's gaze moved to Obi-Wan's hands, just re-buttoning his collar and re-seating the lace fichu he wore. "It is a pleasure, as always, to serve the crown in any fashion possible, no matter how unorthodox."

"Does it not trouble you to be invaded in this way?" Lady Singh, still affronted at having to bare her upper bosom for Kenobi's inspection, growled softly. She stood waiting for Palpatine, and had not only refastened her own clothing, but had spread her long hair over her breast for additional cover, as though its exposure could be retrieved by double cover.

"What cause could I possibly have to take offense? I have no cause for guilt." Palpatine smiled at Kenobi, pushing up his immaculate midnight-blue sleeves of crushed velvet. "One should not complain when given an opportunity to prove one's innocence."

Inspecting both arms, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon and shook his head before assisting Palpatine in bringing his sleeves back down to his wrists. The man bowed briefly at Kenobi and turned with a deeper bow to Qui-Gon. "Now that I have been cleared, may I offer my assistance to my lord? I assure you that I can be very thorough."

Qui-Gon bit back his grimace of distaste. Despite the fact the man bore no scratches, the Prince didn't trust him. He could not conceive of a situation that would find him turning to the man for help of any kind.

"You're very kind," he replied, his tone cold, biting, "but my man and I shall manage."

"As you wish. If you should change your mind..."

Nodding, Qui-Gon waved him on with his hand, dismissing the man.

In the end none of the noble guests were found to have any scratches. Disappointed, but at this juncture hardly surprised that his foolish action had yielded nothing, Qui-Gon dismissed them all with a hope that they would forgive his rudeness and join him at the table for that evening's repast. They filed out sullenly, giving him sidelong glances.

Feeling at a loose end, he strode desolately through the grand stone hallways, slowly making his way back to his rooms. Kenobi kept up silently in his wake, a half step behind him. His boots rang out with every step, the stone beneath his feet worn smooth by hundreds of years worth of steps. It was hard to countenance that someone within these solid walls was trying to kill him. The castle had been home, playground, and refuge for his family for countless generations.

The world was changing rapidly these days, and not, it seemed, for the better.

By the time he reached his sitting room, his mood was black indeed.

A clatter of hooves in the courtyard informed him that Shmi and Anakin were on their way out of his life. He glanced through the drapes, spotting them riding amidst their guard, Captain Panaka taking the point position. His mouth turned down sourly. He was a Prince; he was not accustomed to letting the whims or acts of others rule his life.

"Very little has ever been denied you." The monk made the guess sound like a statement of fact, his tone somewhere between compassion and disrespect. The Prince's fist clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palm, but he declined to answer. "Perhaps being denied is a lesson you must learn in order to be fit for--"

"Now see here." Qui-Gon rounded on him, face twisted into a snarl of pain and fury. "You were hired as my bodyguard, not as a councilor or adviser. If you wish to remain, you will learn that there are times when you cannot push further with your impudence, and this moment is one of those times. So unless you wish to be turned over my knee and blistered like a child, you will be silent until I say you may speak!"

The monk blinked, then in nothing short of a miracle, closed his mouth. The thin-pinched line of his lips indicated his dissatisfaction, but he kept silent. Maybe he was wise, after all.

A soft whisper of wood on wood sounded behind them; he wheeled with fury to face the intruder, finding only Sira. She sank to the floor in an abject curtsey. "If I may be of service to my Lord..." she offered.

Qui-Gon stepped forward in three paces and caught her; she looked up with hot, willing eyes. Relieved beyond measure at the prospect of action and control, he accepted her offer with a will. He brought her arms over her head and rapidly trussed her skirt about them, exposing her flanks and her hips, tearing her underclothing from her. His bodyguard did not object as he took her to his bed, seeking surcease from his pain between her thighs.


	16. Chapter 16

Obi-Wan turned his back as Qui-Gon tumbled the serving girl into his bed. Before, her slim hips and thighs had seemed scandalous and titillating, but now they only looked pale and obscene. He gritted his teeth, staring down through the window.

Shmi and her party had left the outer gates, and were trotting easily down the wide road that led out of the castle grounds. She sat straight and tall, her son on a tall pony next to her bay mare. He turned his head, glancing back at the castle, but her strong palm caught him and turned his eyes forward. She never looked back.

Obi-Wan resigned himself to listening, keeping his spine straight. The moral decadence at this castle was one of the things he found it hardest to acclimate to. Not Qui-Gon's shouting; that had perversely pleased him as much as Qui-Gon's questioning his word on the evidence that Joram was pushed.

Obi-Wan had read every political treatise he could find at the monastery and studied the art of governing carefully, and he knew that a King must have the ability to defend himself. If Qui-Gon had not had the strength to rebel against a mere bodyguard half his age, he would not have what it took to rule his kingdom.

He shook his head with dismay, remembering how he'd reacted to the sexual advances and touches, to the sound and sight of the Prince bedding his serving maid. He would have to keep himself pure; he could not allow that to influence him. He must resist carnal temptations. Succumbing would endanger his mission: to protect the Prince Regent, the bulwark of peace and prosperity in this kingdom, which had always been a shining example for the surrounding lands.

Obi-Wan sank to the floor and folded his legs to meditate, blocking out the sounds from behind him as much as he could, reaching for serenity. It made his stomach churn to think of how the Prince could so easily avow his supposed devotion to Shmi, and still be able to feast on the low pleasures of every maid in sight. He did not understand it, and yet Shmi seemed to know, and yet as far as Obi-Wan could tell she did not resent the girls he bedded... but her calm demeanor might be concealing another motive for murder.

This casual debauchery was appalling.

What was worse, Valorum was right. The Prince's fitness to govern was questioned far and wide throughout the kingdom, and his current behavior did nothing to bolster the confidence of anyone who knew of it. Pater Mundi had hoped Obi-Wan would be the burr beneath the Prince's saddle that startled him awake and finally made him grow up, but thus far it was proving a formidable task.

The sound of yelling and the clatter of horses' hooves against the cobblestones drew his attention back to the window and the courtyard below. Groomsmen and valets were running about, getting in each other's way as they tried to saddle horses and organize packs, carts, and carriages. It appeared an exodus had begun.

Obi-Wan leaned against the casing to watch the cluster of nobles by the great doors. Valorum, Lady Ysidrine and her husband Lord Perimar, and Duke Simpton.

Though Obi-Wan knew that their leave-taking boded the Prince no good, he was quite relieved to see them go. Fewer people in the castle meant fewer suspects and it would make his job of protecting the prince easier without so many people underfoot.

The Prince's chamberlain seemed to be pleading with them, but Valorum shook his head and strode to his horse, grabbing the reins and vaulting into the saddle. A word with his valet and he was gone, leaving his retinue and possessions to follow at a more leisurely pace. The sky had grown dark and promised rain before the day was over-- Valorum had been anxious to leave indeed to embark on a full day's journey with only half the day left.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he tried to puzzle out whether this was a sign of guilt or of innocence. A case could be made for either. Despite his protests, Valorum's skin had been umblemished; his objections could very well have been those of a man whose dignity and trust had been insulted. And, having been insulted, he chose to leave.

On the other hand, if he were guilty, perhaps he had believed himself beyond suspicion and was now beating a hasty retreat in order to reformulate his plan. The other departing nobles he dismissed as possible suspects. Perimar and Ysidrine had nothing to gain by the Prince's death; lady Ysidrine was the sister of the Prince's dead wife and their holdings were a gift from the Prince himself. They were as likely to be going out of fear for their own skins. Duke Simpton had been fawning over Valorum and any mention of the man's daughter Amidala all through their repasts; he was no doubt leaving in order to curry favor with the dour Valorum.

Obi-Wan sighed. They were no closer to the identity of the assassin now than they had been this morning just after the first attempt.

The first fat drop of rain hit the window as the last of the departing horses cleared the gate. Two boys pulled them closed and laboriously laid the thick oaken bar across them. They were secured for the night, against dangers from the outside at least.

The groaning behind him finally ceased; he glanced in the mirror and glimpsed Qui-Gon rolling off Sira, yanking at the belt that secured her skirt over her head and arms. She emerged, looking hot and sweaty, her hair tousled. Much of the curl had fallen out of the long locks. Qui-Gon smacked her hip impatiently. "Be about your duties now, like a good girl." His voice was still moody, his face grim. Obviously his attempt to achieve diversion had not satisfied him.

"Yes my lord." She purred the words contentedly, scrambling out of his bed to curtsey, her skirts falling around her legs once more. She left without hurry, hips swaying. Obi-Wan found himself watching her with irritation, glad that she would not stay the night.

He had not yet been given leave to speak, so he gazed at Prince Qui-Gon with calm but intent eyes, hoping his regard would goad the Prince to inquire what he had to say.

It did.

"What the Sith do you think you're looking at?" Qui-Gon snapped, closing his breeches. As permission went it was ambiguous, but for someone with Obi-Wan's self-confidence, it was enough.

"Several of your guests have decided to forsake the court's hospitality, my Prince." Obi-Wan tilted his head back toward the window. "Valorum. Ysidrine and Perimar. Simpton. They have departed, regardless of the rain." A flare of lightning crackled, briefly illuminating the interior of the room, and thunder rumbled angrily in its wake.

"Good riddance to them." Qui-Gon flopped back onto his pillow, staring up into the shadows of the bed canopy. "Nobles and courtiers are petty, self-interested toadies."

"Be that as it may, they are the bulwarks of consent upon which your right to govern rests," Obi-Wan spoke softly.

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment, his face working with pain, pride, anger, and regret as he stared blindly toward the canopy. "I know they are," he said at last. "I will sleep now." He sat up and drew the curtains tightly around his bed, leaving Obi-Wan to find his pallet and extinguish the candles.


	17. Chapter 17

The Prince still seemed quite subdued and moody when he woke the next day. He washed quickly and seemed little disposed to engage in conversation, even as he waited for Obi-Wan to bathe and finish dressing.

They joined the company assembled at breakfast, and it was impossible not to note the absence of many faces who had been present the day before. Obi-Wan hoped that some of the nobles were merely relying upon their own foodstuffs due to fear of poison and that not all of those absent were planning to leave. One notable absence was King Yoda; Obi-Wan worried that perhaps his health was even worse than they'd guessed the previous day. He had missed several meals in a row now, preferring to remain closeted in his own chambers.

The Prince's silence seemed to permeate the castle, weighing down conversation and eliminating it. Even the servants held their tongues. Obi-Wan tasted each dish diligently; as an additional precaution he also used the Prince's silver and ate off his plate-- food was not the only place where poison might lurk.

In spite of Obi-Wan's increased care, there was nothing unusual about the meal set before them. The food was quite good, if not so delicious as that which Shmi had prepared and overseen.

One notable absence was King Yoda; Obi-Wan worried that perhaps his health was even worse than they'd guessed the previous day. He had missed several meals in a row now, preferring to remain closeted in his own chambers.

Even Palpatine seemed subdued, his usual forced joviality replaced by a sullen silence that Obi-Wan suspected owed itself to an evening of overindulgence in pleasures carnal as well as bacchanalian. Obi-Wan admitted to himself that he didn't like the man. There was something in his overly friendly manner that struck him as patently false, but he couldn't pin it down. The man was oily, slippery like an eel. It was there in the way he spoke and the way he ate, his tongue slipping from his mouth obscenely. Obi-Wan had hoped that he would be among the peerage that chose to leave, but the man seemed to be intent on currying favor despite the current climate at the castle.

The interminable meal finally ended without mishap, the entire assembly heaving a collective sigh of relief when the Prince stood. "I shall be inspecting the herds on the western plain and shall be unavailable for the rest of the day. My apologies." He spoke curtly and Obi-Wan was sure there wasn't a soul present who didn't understand that the Prince was not in the least bit sorry. Nor were they.

Following his charge out of the dinning hall, Obi-Wan heaved a sigh of relief to be done with the oppressive atmosphere. He didn't even reprimand the Prince for unwisely divulging his day's plans.

The Prince donned his riding habit wordlessly, and Obi-Wan opted to change into his robes, which had been laundered and tucked away in his nook of the chamber's lavish closet. It felt good to be out of the clinging silks, free to move. His robes were cooler and less ostentatious, letting him feel more like himself again. It was a relief.

They rode out from the castle in the opposite direction from their previous foray, into the rolling plains where the royal herds wandered more or less freely. After they had ridden past the fifth knot of grazing cattle, the freshness of the expedition dimmed; even having to trot to escape a lumbering, angry bull did not restore excitement or enjoyment into the day.

Obi-Wan squinted up at the sun wearily, wondering how long until they would return. He heaved a sigh of relief when they turned away, but their return to the castle failed to provide relief from the oppressive silence and boredom.

The head groom informed Prince Qui-Gon that a dozen more nobles had left during his absence; Qui-Gon merely grunted and retreated to the Royal Archive, where he spent an interminable hour scratching in his journal with a quill. Obi-Wan tried to read, but the scratching irritated him; he realized he was nervously awaiting another crisis: an attempt on Qui-Gon's life, an argument, a startling revelation... anything.

"What is there to do for amusement in the castle?" he inquired abruptly, interrupting the Prince's writing.

Qui-Gon raised his eyes slowly, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly interesting specimen of insect. "There is a wine cellar and there are willing maids," he drawled. "I have observed that you partake sparingly of the former and not at all of the latter."

"But surely there must be more to do than ride and write. At the monastery, we drew, studied, trained, made things..."

"It is not seemly for a king to engage in manual labor. I was a particularly poor student at art. Even you do not find the books in this library engaging." Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan's dismayed stare with a challenging one of his own.

"Cooking?"

The Prince's level stare never faltered.

"Needlework?"

"You mock me," Qui-Gon's mouth pinched with annoyance; Obi-Wan's gaze was drawn to his thick, sword-callused fingers and he shook his head, contrite.

"What do you do to pass the days?"

"I hunt for sport. Maids and wild game." He looked back down to his journal. "And sometimes men."

"Criminals?" Obi-Wan ventured. Qui-Gon vouchsafed him a hooded look, but said nothing. He resumed writing.

It took a moment or two, but Obi-Wan blushed when he realized to what the Prince was referring and he was glad the man's attention was once more upon his scroll. He would have to work on suppressing that reaction; Qui-Gon showed no signs that he would stop baiting his bodyguard.

The young monk was beginning to understand though how the Prince could be such a contradiction. Obviously groomed to take his father's place as ruler, he had spent countless years waiting to assume those duties, with little enough to do to fill his days outside of honing those skills. Obi-Wan could not imagine filling all his days with the banal and meaningless tasks they had indulged in this day. He had to wonder if he would have fared any better under time's hand had their positions been reversed.

The same man who could be arrogant, petulant and spoiled, had hefted a child into the air, catching him on the way down, had fiercely defended the mother of his child when suspicion had fallen upon her. And, in the face of the king's frailty, had displayed the heart of a son, not waiting for his father to die, but wanting to see him live. Valorum's judgment of the Prince had been correct, to a point, as had his own initial estimate, but perhaps it was also true that both fell short of the man's full character.

Only the test of time could prove Qui-Gon's mettle and it was his job to ensure the prince had that time.

His eyes fell again on the Prince, squinting now as the sun disappeared, night creeping in through the windows, bringing darkness with it. Qui-Gon certainly looked the part, even if his behavior did not. Tall and regal, his bearing spoke of supreme confidence bordering on arrogance and even out of his fine velvets and silks, he cut an imposing and impressive figure.

Obi-Wan turned back to his books hastily, glad of the encroaching darkness that covered his blush. Where had that thought come from?


	18. Chapter 18

Several days passed in much the same manner as the last, uneventful and tedious. Obi-Wan remained on the keen edge between tension and boredom, waiting for the next attack, one that never came. He slept badly, tossing and turning as his thoughts replayed each word spoken by Valorum and Shmi, each motion they made examined from every nuance. It was beginning to look more and more as if one of them were responsible for the attacks against the prince.

He felt as sullen and crabby this morning as the prince appeared -both men remaining quiet as Sira tended to her master and Obi-Wan dressed himself, once again choosing the more familiar and comfortable trappings of the Order. The prince made no comment and swept from the room, Obi-Wan at his heels. The old stone halls seemed as out of sorts as their inhabitants, damp and chilly this morning. A cold breeze added its own misery.

They arrived at the dining hall to discover only two places set at one end of the great table. "All the guests have departed, m'lord," said Kitster, a swart, toothy lad about Anakin's age. "And his majesty has chosen to eat in his rooms."

Qui-Gon dismissed him with a sharp wave, the boy running from the room as if eager to leave its oppressive atmosphere.

Obi-Wan was about to suggest that they break their fast in the warmth of the kitchen, but a single look at the prince's face had him swallowing his words. He diligently tasted each dish and drink as it was set on the table, but otherwise chose not to eat. The prince's appetite seemed equally sparse.

rs of his lips.

"And here I had believed that it was you who was more likely to warn me of the dangers of vanity," the Prince commented.

"One man's truth is frequently another man's vanity," Obi-Wan returned, enjoying the verbal sparring nearly as much as he anticipated the workout.

"Talking with you is like dancing with a porcupine," Qui-Gon grumbled, and took up his spoon to finish his oat porridge.

"Some might say governing a kingdom has similar qualities."

"You sound like a fussy nursemaid I had as a boy. Depa never let an opportunity pass to skewer you with some tidbit of sage wisdom. I believe she concocted half of them on the spur of the moment."

"A clever thinker can always find appropriate words." Obi-Wan sat back, his smile trying even harder to escape.

"I wish Depa were still in the castle. I would love to see her bandy wits with you." Qui-Gon wiped the inside of his bowl clean with a bit of biscuit, then popped it into his mouth.

"It is more likely that we would join forces and use our combined wits to hone yours," Obi-Wan admitted, and this time the mischievous smile broke free.

"I have held my own more than once with you in a battle of words," Qui-Gon growled at him. Obi-Wan inclined his head, admitting the point, and admitting to himself that his efforts at bringing the Prince out of the mood he'd sunk into in the wake of Joram's death and Shmi's departure.

Silence fell between them again and Obi-Wan actually jumped as the prince's chair scrapped against the floor. Shaking his head at his own inattention, he stood and followed the prince from the room.

The area set aside for the prince to hone his various physical skills proved to be underground. They followed a dark, curving staircase, the Prince's torch sputtering in the damp, threatening at every moment to be blown out by the wind. At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow hallway that branched in 4 directions. Obi-Wan wondered what else was here below the castle, but with the Prince's ill-humor, he decided not to ask at this time.

They took the leftmost turn and had not gone very far when the hall opened into a large room. Using the torch he'd brought, Qui-Gon lit a number of candles fitted into mirror-lined recesses and the room soon glowed with the warm yellow light of a thousand candles. Obi-Wan peered about with interest, recognizing some of the contraptions that littered the room, while the purpose to others left him totally baffled. The prince wasted no time, quickly stripping down to his boots and leggings and attacking a burlap bag, filled with Obi-Wan knew not what, that was suspended from the ceiling.

Obi-Wan undressed more slowly, using the time of preparation to breathe deeply, bringing oxygen to his muscles and then slipping easily into a routine of bends and stretching designed to ready his body for the work of exercise. He was stiff, just the faintest bit awkward-- it had been too long since his last practice, and too long before that spent on the road in the cold and the damp. He tucked the first joint of his fingers under his toes and was stretching out the knots in his shoulders and spine when his eyes were abruptly caught and held by Qui-Gon's own warm-up. The Prince finished flogging the bag and stood for a moment with his wooden practice sword clasped over his head in both hands, the right on the hilt and the left on the blade.

His shoulders flexed, muscle rippling in daunting waves. Somehow, Obi-Wan hadn't noticed before how daunting the man's sheer bulk could be. He was tall, easily half a head taller than Obi-Wan himself, and very broad-shouldered, with a sturdy but not too heavy frame. He was softer than Obi-Wan, probably a testimony to his life at court and its customary dissolute pleasures at the table.

His waist was narrow, emerging from rough linen trousers that had fallen to hang low on his hips as he swatted the training bag. He was shining slightly with sweat-- further evidence of a soft lifestyle, but Obi-Wan knew sheer strength and stubbornness would carry him long after he grew exhausted. His chest was dusted with hair, bronze speckled with silver like the long hair that fell about his shoulders, clinging slightly in the sheen of perspiration.

For a moment Obi-Wan let himself speculate, picturing the man in armor-- the Prince Regent's heavy golden helm wrought in the form of a lion's snarling mouth, its bared teeth the face-guard, its mane flowing down in waves to protect the prince's neck. The heavy gold-chased plate that he would wear beneath it, sinuous with overlapping scales to move and flow with his body. Greaves and cuisses would hide the powerful, rangy forearms and the taut-muscled thighs, terminating in sturdy tempered leather gauntlets and high boots... he would be a shining sun on the battlefield. His troops would see him as long as he sat his warhorse, and they would rally to his splendor.

The monk gathered his wits, realizing that the Prince was staring at him expectantly, predatory amusement in his eyes. He looked smug, his shoulders lifted with pride. Obi-Wan hastily cast about for a way to salvage the situation; he'd let too many of his thoughts show in his admiring gaze. "You are soft," he commented, lifting his own practice sword and gesturing at the Prince's abdomen, which was smooth but not defined, as Obi-Wan's was.

"You are already sweating, and you are not even armored. What if your land went to war? You would be expected to lead the troops. Could you even lift a sword, wearing heavy plate?"

Some of the gleam left Prince Qui-Gon's eyes, replaced by a flicker of hurt, then cold steel. "I could fight longer in heavy plate than you, I will wager."

"I wear leather armor and do not fight from horseback," Obi-Wan countered. "I am fast enough to wear leather. You are not. Also, you are too important to take that risk. You may choose not to spar with me if you will, but you should practice more often, and for a longer duration." He paused. "That sack you thrash does not provide much opportunity to hone your combat skills, though you may practice forms against it."

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. "I did not say that I feared to spar with you. I said that I preferred to train alone."

"Training alone leaves you vulnerable to the tricks and wiles of others; you do not learn to anticipate strategies not your own."

"I have done just fine up until now," snarled Qui-Gon. "I have bested the finest swordsmen in the land, and successfully led the battle against the Hutt barbarians to the south."

"That was almost 15 years ago," scoffed Obi-Wan, "and the Hutts are notoriously lazy, slow, and dim."

"You are the most upstart servant I have ever had the misfortune to know," said Qui-Gon, voice grown dangerously soft. "I have had men flogged for less."

"It is the fact that you have had no one to challenge you that has left you soft and dulled, my lord," replied Obi-Wan, warming to the battle of wits, more comfortable now that he had something to focus on other than the Prince's half-dressed body.

"And you would be my whetstone?" Qui-Gon laughed. "Rather a tall order for a little monk."

"It is not size that makes the measure of a man, but his deeds that do."

"My father has a similar maxim. I find it interesting that it is only small men who dismiss stature so readily."

"And only unimaginative men who put stock in size," countered Obi-Wan.

"Are we here to train or argue?" asked Qui-Gon.

"Either makes a change from the tedium of the last few days," admitted Obi-Wan.

"I won't argue with that."

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon in surprise, almost shocked to see the warm expression on the prince's face. Their eyes locked, Obi-Wan noticing the way the candlelight danced in the dark blue of the Prince's eyes. He felt an unfamiliar surge go through him, tightening his chest. Abruptly he turned to the sawhorse at his side and put his foot on it, leaning over to stretch out his leg muscles. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breath was short.

Obi-Wan hoped he wasn't coming down with something, it would be much harder to protect the prince if he were sick.


	19. Chapter 19

Qui-Gon woke with the dawn, alone in his bed as he had been since he'd sent Shmi away. It wasn't that he had ever been faithful to her, or that she'd expect this bout of celibacy, but without her ready companionship, his other liaisons seemed empty, as indeed they were; warm bodies that filled his bed but otherwise left him unmoved.

The room was cold, but by the sound of it the damnable rain that had fallen for nearly a week had finally stopped. A soft ray of sunshine struggled to make its way through the heavy brocade curtains, lighting the room. He glanced over at the pallet, finding Kenobi still abed and indeed, asleep. The boy usually woke as he did, some innate sense telling him that his charge was up, so Qui-Gon enjoyed the chance to examine the boy unnoticed.

An uneasy truce had grown between them over the last few days, born of a combination of immediacy, boredom, and grudging respect-- on both sides, he'd wager.

With the end of their overt hostilities, Qui-Gon found himself once again ruminating on the benefits of bedding the boy. If nothing else, the seduction would provide a diversion, not to mention there was something quite delicious in the deflowering of a virgin. And Obi-Wan found him attractive. Ever since their first day in the training salon, he was sure of it. He'd turned to catch the boy watching him, wide-eyed, with a look that had to mean desire, though his little monk was probably too innocent to recognize it for what it was.

He licked his lips, stretching luxuriantly. It had been too long since he took a man, since he'd felt the hard strength of another man's erection clasped inside his palm. Too long since he'd felt the thrill of conquest in bending a strong male body over and occupying it with his own. Obi-Wan had a beautiful voice; the prince thought it would sound well gasping in shock and pleasure.

He was whip-slim and pretty, but yet definitely masculine, just the sort of man Qui-Gon liked to bend to his will. His body stirred and he clasped his shaft in his fist, letting his eyes play over his young bodyguard. Light poured in, gilding the lad's pale torso, gleaming in the fine hairs on his arms. He'd squinted his lids against it, turning his face. His parted lips looked sweet and vulnerable.

Qui-Gon stroked himself idly, feasting his eyes on the young vision. Really, he should have the lad given a proper bed. Perhaps a trundle bed that would fit under his own... at least as long as they needed such a thing.

Obi-Wan's eyes blinked open, his face crinkling against the light as he shut them again. Qui-Gon continued stroking his erection, feeling the lazy build and surge of his pleasure, enjoying the knowledge that Obi-Wan would soon notice. Perhaps exposure to frank, unembarrassed sexuality would enhance the growth of the monk's own sensual awareness.

Obi-Wan sighed and flung away his blankets. Without looking in Qui-Gon's direction he scratched his chest, yawning and stretching. He was as beautiful and tempting as a satyr, observed unseen: Qui-Gon quickened his strokes, his breath coming faster.

Obi-Wan rose, kicking his blankets into a semblance of order, then untied his sleeping shirt and tugged it off over his head. Qui-Gon's eyes widened and he licked his lips, surveying the lad's bare body. He could almost feel how the smooth, rounded hips would yield to the pressure of his hands as he parted them to press himself between.

"Bend over," Qui-Gon mouthed silently, and bit his lip with pleasure when Obi-Wan did, reaching for his discarded breeches and doublet. His legs were slightly parted, revealing his well-proportioned but quiescent shaft, his soft-furred testicles, and the faintest hint of the portal to his body. Sith, yes. To bury himself there...

Perhaps he made a sound, a small groan or gasp of anticipation, or perhaps the boy's intuition warned him; in either case Obi-Wan froze and then snatched his blankets, straightening abruptly. Obi-Wan's eyes widened in shock and affront; he clutched the blankets clumsily around himself. Qui-Gon continued stroking, brushing his thumb over the broad tip of his cock to spread the drop of moisture that had welled.

He regarded Obi-Wan with lazy, catlike contentment, never pausing. "Continue dressing," he suggested huskily. "Your body pleases me."

Obi-Wan sputtered, blushing beet-red. "You are like a dog in the barnyard! You would mount anything that moved!"

"I would mount you, if you would come to bed with me." Qui-Gon ignored the lad's distracting tactic. "We have nowhere to be and nothing to do. What could be better than to spend the morning abed, learning the pleasures I can teach you?" He shifted so that the bedcoverings fell away further, and let his legs part, flexing the muscles in his thighs. Obi-Wan stood riveted, like a deer at point, pondering which way to flee, his eyes fixed to the prince's moving hand. Qui-Gon slid his other hand under his balls, rolling them gently. They were tight, drawn up against his body, anticipating release.

"I will not come to your bed," Obi-Wan looked desperate in spite of the firm resolve in his words.

"I think you will, in time," Qui-Gon promised him, hearing the low growl of pleasure behind his words. "And when you do, I shall spread you open and have you like a girl, and you will cry out and writhe as Sira does, when I have her. I know that you've listened, and I know that you wonder. What would it be like? How would it feel to sink your flesh into a woman's, how would it feel to spread your knees and be taken?"

Obi-Wan's mouth opened, but no words came out, only a desperate flicker of his pink tongue. His eyes darted away, his expression hunted.

"And after I take you, I think I will let you take me, so that you can know the pleasure of burying yourself inside a lover," Qui-Gon continued, relentless. "I will go on my knees before you, would you like that? Would you like to hear me make such cries?"

"You flatter yourself." Obi-Wan stuttered, his cultured voice stripped raw.

Qui-Gon reached behind himself, aware that the lad was still able to see him in the periphery of his vision. "I think that I will... imagine that now," his breath grew short as he slid two fingers inside himself. "Your body inside me. You would... ride me well, and hard... and fast, with the same fire... as when you fight! Ah!" His head fell back as he came, pulsing over his fist and onto the satin sheets.

He sank back, sated, heavy-lidded eyes watching Kenobi. The lad was trembling and he clutched his blankets desperately before his body, his eyes fully turned away now, crimson from head to toe. "My lord mocks me."

The words were so softly spoken that Qui-Gon wasn't even sure he'd heard them. Kenobi turned, his spine straight and rigid, his tension visible even through the blanket that covered him.

"And my bodyguard insults me," he replied, still lying comfortably against his pillows, none of the usual steel behind his words.

Kenobi turned again at that, still crimson; his eyes now flashed with life and fire. "It is not my duty to provide my lord with a bed partner," he said fiercely. Kenobi stalked to the door, hand on the handle before he stopped, stiff shoulders slumping slightly.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Regretting your vow to be my shadow, little monk? Should I absolve you of it?"

Kenobi turned at that, face again calm. "I assure my lord that I shall not break any of my vows while in his service." The towel dropped from Kenobi's body and though he was still as red as a ripe fall apple and his gaze did not meet the prince's, he efficiently dressed himself under Qui-Gon's watchful gaze.

The prince wondered what had brought about the new resolve that now filled Kenobi along with the familiar calm. The reminder of his duty to vouchsafe the prince's body, would be Qui-Gon's guess. But he'd had the boy for a moment, trembling and eager, no doubt confused about the unfamiliar feelings coursing through his body. He would let the matter drop, for now, but this was not the end of the matter.

A successful campaign required patience.

They ate breakfast in the kitchen, as had become their habit ever since they'd begun to train together in the room beneath the castle. A board, with an on-going game of chess, lay between them.

It was Kenobi's move and Qui-Gon sat back, eating warm gruel and salt pork, watching as his bodyguard concentrated on the board, the tip of his tongue appearing between his lips. Despite his calm demeanor it was obvious the boy was still distracted by the morning's events; Qui-Gon would have him checkmated in three more moves, making this the only game he'd won handily against the monk.

The clatter of hooves from the courtyard interrupted their game and they both turned as a lad, dressed in the gray and blue of Valorum's house, ran in. He bowed deeply, touching his forehead to the floor. "I have an invitation from my master, for the Prince."

"Go on," said Qui-Gon, waving his hand impatiently. The boy pulled a scroll from his belt and, unrolling it, began to read.

"To his royal majesty, Crown Prince of the land, from your most humble servant Valorum. I most humbly beg your forgiveness for my behavior while I was a guest in your home. Obviously stress and nerves prompted me to speak in a manner unbefitting a loyal subject of the kingdom. It would honor me greatly if his majesty would visit my lands and avail himself of my hospitality so that I might prove my continued loyalty to the crown. Your most humble and abject servant, Valorum."

"Well," said Qui-Gon, somewhat appeased by the tone of the letter and the invitation. A week at Valorum's estate could be fun; the man had an excellent game preserve and a fine winery. "Tell your master we shall join him presently."

"If I may inquire, my lord, as to the number of your retinue?"

"Just my bodyguard and I." Qui-Gon spared his Kenobi a glance as the boy made a choking sound.

"Take some bread and wine for your return journey," he offered magnanimously. Valorum's man bowed low again and followed one of the serving maids to the pantry.

"Must you tell all and sundry your traveling plans?" hissed Kenobi.

"I am the Crown Prince, I do what I want," replied Qui-Gon. Surely this morning had taught the boy that, if nothing else. "Leave the game; we will depart as soon as the horses are saddled."


	20. Chapter 20

It felt good to be back in the saddle after days of rain and even better to outside of the confines of the castle. Sebulba's hooves rang out gaily, the stallion's body moving beneath him. Kenobi, on his own horse, rode next to him. The boy had said nothing more after his protest in the kitchen and Qui-Gon couldn't decide if he missed the insubordinate barbs or preferred the quiet.

At any rate, he was happy to have the boy beside him, and he realized with a start that he had grown used to Kenobi's constant presence, to the point that he expected he would miss the boy when his services as bodyguard were no longer required. Perhaps if Kenobi proved to be as good between the sheets as Qui-Gon imagined he could be, he would keep the boy with him at the castle, set up in his own rooms next to Qui-Gon's. It had been a long time since Qui-Gon had had a courtesan set up in the lavishly appointed rooms, preferring, for the most part, the variety and simple enthusiasm of his servants.

The promised warmth of the morning sun was fulfilled, the day growing warmer as they rode. If they continued at this pace, they would arrive at Valorum's estate before nightfall. Already they had passed the boundary that separated his holdings from the castle's ample land.

He occupied himself pleasantly, watching dappled shafts of sunlight play in the boy's hair, picking up its red highlights. Kenobi insisted on leading the way, watching behind every tree and boulder as though the squirrels or hedgehogs might leap out to attack them. Qui-Gon smiled complacently, amused by his diligence. Perhaps he would be equally devoted in bed; that kind of determination was definitely an asset in sucking cock. There was a pleasant thought. Kenobi's narrow, mobile lips wrapped around his--

A zinging noise intruded, like the annoying whine of a mosquito or a hornet. Kenobi jerked on the reins of their horses, glancing sharply about, and Qui-Gon's eyes found the quivering blue-and-white-fletched shaft protruding from an oak at the same second Kenobi slapped Sebulba's haunch sharply, startling him forward. More arrows whined like a swarm of angry bees, but they'd started sharply, so the archers missed their mark.

"Ride hard for Valorum's keep!" Obi-Wan fell behind, spreading his cloaked arms to try to cover the Prince's back. Qui-Gon glanced back, the wind of their passage stinging his eyes. Several hundred paces behind them, a group of twenty or more mounted soldiers had emerged as though from nowhere. Qui-Gon spied a dark opening in the green and realized they must have been concealed within the face of a gentle hill that he and his bodyguard had passed only minutes ago. It must have been hollowed out from within, the earth carefully collected and taken away. Probably the main entry was on the far side of the hill, where his bodyguard's eagle eyes could not have reached. They had lain concealed behind a turf-covered portal, waiting.

Seeing that they had missed, the mounted archers were tucking away their short bows, drawing swords and spurring their mounts forward. Twenty against two, and still a quarter day's travel to the keep. Qui-Gon cursed, reaching for his broadsword. "We'll have to stand and face them!" he shouted. "We can't run forever."

"Let us find favorable ground, then!" Obi-Wan urged his mount to more speed. "We have to reach cover or they'll pick us off at their leisure!"

"It seems you were correct about divulging details of our traveling plans," Qui-Gon admitted bitterly, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins.

"I hope that there is a next time, so that you may put the lesson to good use!"

They pounded along the grassy verge of the young-timber forest, splashing in and out of creeks recklessly with a clatter of iron horseshoes on rock. Qui-Gon bit his lip, praying neither horse picked up a stone; a lamed mount would leave them at the mercy of their pursuers. He cast about desperately for shelter, relying on knowledge of the terrain gained from a lifetime of visiting his retainers.

The forest was far from thick enough to provide adequate cover; Valorum had timbered this section of his estate perhaps fifteen years ago. The young trees had grown high enough that leaves and branches provided no screen, and their slender trunks gave little shelter.

"They're closing the distance. Their horses are fresher!" Obi-Wan warned, the wind tearing at his words.

"There is a burial ground not far ahead with high stones and vaults where we may set our backs." Qui-Gon angled his horse into the woods, their pace slowing unavoidably as they wove in and out among the trees.

"And it will be convenient for all concerned if we do not survive the attack," Obi-Wan quipped darkly, but he followed. A brighter area of light was soon visible not far into the forest, and they arrowed toward it, lightly jumping over rotting logs from unsuitable trees that had been felled when the wood from the previous forest was harvested. The new trees had been planted in regular rows, which helped-- but it helped their pursuers as well.

The soldiers were also entering the woods, and were once again within bowshot. A few arrows zinged, and Obi-Wan's gelding whinnied shrilly, staggering. Obi-Wan was thrown, landing heavily on the loam and staggering to his feet. Cursing, Qui-Gon jerked Sebulba's head around and bolted back for Obi-Wan. He leaned down and his bodyguard caught his arm on the fly. He swung the lad across the saddle like a sack of grain and kicked the stallion, who burst forward and into the clearing where the tombs lay.

"Don't come back for me next time!" Obi-Wan snapped, unable even in the midst of battle to resist the temptation for argument.

"Don't let your horse get shot next time, then!" They tumbled off Sebulba and Qui-Gon slapped his haunch with the flat of his blade, sending the stallion leaping away, skittering between the tombs. He and Obi-Wan dove between a pair of large sepulchers. In the narrow alley there was barely enough room to swing a blade, but they were shielded from arrows except for a few degrees of arc directly on either side.

"Now we hope their leader is overconfident," Qui-Gon panted, wiping dirt and sweat from his brow. "If he sends his men in after us, we may have a chance to survive. If he puts archers in the woods and they keep plugging arrows at us, we're dead men."

Obi-Wan nodded morosely, accepting his assessment. "Whoever arranged their concealment was a fine tactician," he commented flatly, rolling his shoulder with a grimace of pain. "I saw no traces of earthmoving or hoofprints. That dugout was prepared well in advance."

"Are you injured?" Qui-Gon frowned. Kenobi had taken a hard fall.

"I'll have a bruise. I hope it's the worst I have to worry about."

Qui-Gon nodded, fingering his sword to test its edge, his knuckles white on the hilt. "The soldiers are wearing livery," he told Obi-Wan tightly. His bodyguard lifted curious eyes. "Valorum's."

Obi-Wan swore softly and drew his own blade. "We have walked into his trap like fat pigeons pecking at grain," he observed bitterly. "I am a fool."

There seemed little response to make, so Qui-Gon set his back to Obi-Wan's and together they watched the narrow strips of forest visible from beyond their shelter. The tension of waiting drew tight; they could each hear footsteps beyond the tombs, sticks and grass crunching and rustling as their enemies closed in.

"You are surrounded. Surrender!" a rough voice called.

"We will not," Qui-Gon informed him evenly. "If you wished to parley you would not have fired before talking."

A muted rumble of conversation greeted his statement, and at last two men stepped to block each side of the alley, bearing drawn swords.

"Well, apparently their commander is as much a fool as I am," Obi-Wan commented dryly.

"That is a comfort," Qui-Gon responded, equally tart.

The men advanced, swords leading. Qui-Gon sized up their skill; not the greatest, but the superior numbers were daunting. He could feel Obi-Wan's shoulders and back working against his as the monk engaged his man; Qui-Gon too was soon pressed to battle. His longer arms and the size of his sword hampered him in the enclosure they had chosen, and he was hard pressed to defend against his smaller opponent in spite of the man's inferior skill.

Then a clatter resounded, nearly simultaneous with a curse; Obi-Wan faltered behind him and something eclipsed the sun. Qui-Gon squinted up as quickly as he could and swore: men atop the tombs, raining bricks and bits of masonry down on them. A piece scratched his cheek and dust stung his eyes.

"Are you holding up?"

"We've got to get out of here," Obi-Wan muttered. Qui-Gon agreed; now that they were tangled up with the bulk of the attackers, an archer would have trouble finding a clear shot that did not menace one of his comrades.

"That is apparent." Qui-Gon battered back his opponent's blade, using the force of his weight to push the man in front of him. Obi-Wan followed a step at a time, his own sword still ringing as he clashed with his opponent. Once out, they would have to face all the attackers at once, but it was better than having stone blocks dropped on their heads.

His persistent advance took his man off guard, and Qui-Gon slipped his blade through to bite into stomach and ribs. He did not pause to consider his kill. "Ware obstacles," he warned Kenobi; two men closed in as he stepped out of the alley.

With freedom to swing, he could use his great strength to batter back the men in great sweeping blows, but he lacked his bodyguard's subtle form and quickness. One of the men stumbled and he pushed through the unexpected gap, dashing with Kenobi into a small thicket of waist-high tombstones. Back-to-back again, they battled on, the terrain hampering their attackers.

This time Qui-Gon was beset by a man with a broadsword like his own, a more even battle. It gave him breathing room to glance about, and he spotted the leader, a short squat man, burly, with a jagged splash of red and black tattoos crawling over his cheeks and forehead. The man stood waiting, fingering the hilt of his blade, and displayed snaggle-teeth at Qui-Gon in a vicious smile.

He feinted, leading his opponent in, and dispatched him. All in all, he had taken out perhaps four men; Obi-Wan with his quickness and grace had taken perhaps six more, judging by a quick glance around the burial site. Half their opponents, and neither of them badly wounded yet! Qui-Gon threw his head back and laughed, feeling lust for battle surge through his veins. It did much to dispatch the weariness that had been creeping up on him slowly; he was soft, as Kenobi had observed.

The men atop the tombs had scrambled down, and they advanced now with caution, respecting the teeth he and his bodyguard had shown in the first half of the battle.

Time seemed to slow and then still as they fought, the sun burning down through the branches onto them, making sweat stream into Qui-Gon's eyes. He cursed and wiped his face with his sleeve, stabbing another attacker. The leader continued to watch even though he was down to four men; bodies piled deep around the pair and blood was beginning to make the ground slick with mud where they stood.

Then the leader stepped forward. The man waded in calmly even as two more men fell.

"He'll be the best of them," Qui-Gon warned and Obi-Wan grunted; even he had begun to breathe hard.

"Been waiting... for us to tire." Kenobi sliced the throat of the man he fought and Qui-Gon felt the warm spatter, but did not let revulsion slow him. His opponent did not possess the same wisdom, stepping back with horror. Qui-Gon dispatched him with a backhanded cut that sent his head rolling.

He felt Kenobi falter, his heel sliding out from under him in the bloody muck on the ground, and whirled without pause to meet the leader, his fist on the hilt of the sword connecting solidly and sending the man flying backward. He rolled and rose, glowering at Qui-Gon, who stood over Obi-Wan. The bodyguard groaned, clutching at his head in the same place where the thrown brick had struck him earlier; apparently he'd hit a tombstone on the way down.

Qui-Gon waded forward, his glare promising death, and the leader retreated, regaining his balance, a mocking grin spreading across his face. "You will suffer for this insolence," Qui-Gon promised.

The leer never changed; Qui-Gon blinked as his attacker tossed his sword away carelessly and reached behind a pillar on the nearest tomb. He blinked when the man withdrew an iron-shod oaken staff and twirled it between his hands expertly. It made a moaning sound like a damned soul as it cut the air.

Qui-Gon swallowed, then waded in. Legend held it that the first king to hold the Jinn throne, the greatest swordsman ever born in this kingdom had only been defeated once-- by a man with a staff.

Kenobi was climbing to his knees, shaking his head to clear it, as Qui-Gon attacked the tattooed leader fiercely, spinning and twisting, using all the cleverness and speed and strength he had to muster. The man led him a merry chase, thwarting his blows almost effortlessly after the single lucky strike. He darted behind a plinth and Qui-Gon pursued him, only to catch a nasty blow to the shoulder that drained all feeling from his arm, leaving it numb.

He staggered and the other end of the staff snapped up, catching his chin. His head exploded with a riot of dizzy pain. Suddenly there was a dagger in the leader's hand; it dove at him and cut in with an explosion of agony like nothing he had ever felt. He fell to his knees, a mocking laugh ringing in his ears. He dropped his sword. Clutching desperately at his belly, he tried to hold his insides in, the world beginning to fade around him.

The last thing he was aware of was Obi-Wan leaping over his fallen body like an avenging angel, his blade glittering in the sunlight.

Then there was nothing.


	21. Chapter 21

"No!" screamed Obi-Wan as the prince fell and he charged Qui-Gon's attacker, leaping over the prince's body. He struck madly, his adversary easily meeting each blow with his staff. Obi-Wan continued to land a volley of hits, all blocked. A part of him knew that he'd lost his focus, his strikes were weak, ill-timed and easily anticipated as if he were a novice swordsman, but there was little he could do about it. Hyper-aware of his charge, lying in the muck behind him, bleeding from what looked like a mortal wound, he felt his control eluding his grasp.

Eventually his exhaustion and the mucky ground conspired against him and his feet slipped out from under him. It allowed his adversary time to run his staff through one of the quillions of Obi-Wan's sword, yanking it from his hand. Obi-Wan scrabbled back toward the prince's body, watching as the assassin came toward him, circling his staff, making it wail.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a glint of sunlight off the broad blade of the prince's sword. Eyes never leaving his adversary's he reached to his left, grabbing the sword and rising to his knees, plunging the heavy blade into the man's stomach.

Malevolent eyes looked down at him in surprise as the man dropped his staff to clutch at his belly. Obi-Wan grabbed the hilt of Qui-Gon's sword with both hands and pulled it out of the assailant's body. Planting himself more firmly, he ran the sword through the enemy a second time, angled up through the ribs.

Blood poured from the man's lips, mingling with the odd patterns tattooed on his face, and his eyes grew glossy, dead.

Breathing heavily, Obi-Wan turned and crawled to the prince. Qui-Gon lay at an odd angle, blood covering his stomach, his eyes closed. Obi-Wan laid his head on the prince's chest, relieved to feel it moving with regular breaths. Tearing open Qui-Gon's tunic, he discovered a wound just above the navel. He put pressure on the wound with one hand, using the other to tear material from the bottom of his own leggings, glad that he'd managed to convince the Prince that he'd be more comfortable riding in his own clothing; the order's uniform of simple home-spun linen made an excellent bandage.

He tied it as tight as he dared and then, sitting as comfortably as he could at the prince's side, he laid both hands over the wound and closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to be able to heal the wound immediately. He was tired and the healing sapped energy, the larger the wound, the more energy was needed to complete the task. On top of that he had to get them out of here, find someplace to hide until Qui-Gon was well enough to ride. He had played the fool once today to Valorum, he would not do it again -if more men were sent to ensure the first ones had completed their task, they would not find Qui-Gon and himself among the corpses and tombs.

He concentrated on the prince's wound, picturing himself enter the man's body at his wound, encouraging cells to grow and attach themselves to each other. It seemed a hopeless task. The tattooed man's blade had bitten deep into Qui- Gon's belly, slicing through flesh and nicking the intestines, and the wound was filthy inside and out. Men rarely lived after such a wound to the gut; Obi-Wan had seen even Pater Mundi fail to heal less serious injuries.

Qui-Gon was already feverish, his cheeks taking on an unhealthy flush, and sweat beaded on his forehead and chest. He moaned, struggling restlessly, tearing open the edges of the cruel wound still further.

"Be still," Obi-Wan begged, touching his face. He had no thought of failing his Trials, no thought that he would not be accepted as a Knight of his order. He only cared for Qui-Gon, dying in his lap. Qui-Gon moaned, catching his arm in a bruising iron grip.

"You're going to be well." Obi-Wan laid his hand over the wound, reaching deep inside himself for all the strength he could muster, and lost himself in the flow of energy.

Moving almost in a dream, he stood and went to the body of his horse, retrieving his water bag, and returned to the prince's side, rinsing the wound as well as he could. Then he knelt, laying both hands over the skin and ignoring the flow of blood, closing his eyes and losing himself again in the energies of healing, feeling it move and knit beneath his palms.

He pulled himself back before it was done, feeling his energy level draining rapidly.

He blinked, looking up through the trees, he judged by the height of the sun that several hours had passed. He had to get them away from here. Now.

Urgency fuelled him, moving him when his body would have him lie down and sleep. He pulled Qui-Gon's sword from their attacker's body, cutting the jerkin that displayed Valorum's colours from the dead man. A quick search produced his own poignard and he sheathed it with unsteady hands.

He whistled for Sebulba, not knowing if the stallion would come to his call, or even if the smell of blood had driven the horse far enough that the whistle would not be heard.

He nearly fell on top of the prince, sliding in the muck, barely catching himself from landing on the wound. Chewing his bottom lip, he pondered the best way to carry Qui-Gon without re-opening the wound. In the end he slid his hands beneath the Prince's arms and pulled him to the edge of the clearing, the large body sliding easily over the blood- soaked mud.

He could hear Sebulba whinnying in the distance and he whistled again. The stallion approached reluctantly, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and excrement that hovered in the clearing. Obi-Wan left the prince to approach the beast, looping the reins around a convenient branch.

He used Qui-Gon's heavy, notched broadsword to cut two saplings and lashed them together with strips cut from his own tunic, forming a crude travois. He padded it with interlaced branches and Qui-Gon's own cloak, then tugged the moaning man onto it and tied it behind Sebulba. Grimacing at every moan when its ends struck a rock or root, he led the horse from the clearing.


	22. Chapter 22

They couldn't afford to travel far this way, not with every jolt and bump in the path wringing a hoarse moan from the prince. He tried to ease Qui-Gon's journey but the need for him to lead Sebulba prevented him from providing an effective buffer against roots, sticks, and rocks.

Obi-Wan set his jaw grimly, listing worst-case scenarios. If there was a second party of soldiers. If those soldiers had hounds. His and Qui-Gon's lives depended on terrible whims of chance. Still, if there were dogs, no hiding place would be safe. If it were merely men, the less ostentatious a shelter they chose, the better.

He finally settled on the half-rotted trunk of a huge tree. Resting the travois next to the trunk, he hastened to chop away some boughs with his sword. He propped them up, forming a crude lean-to, forming a concealing shelter. The sky was clear, and he was glad there would be no rain. Given the time of year, the night would probably be chilly but not bitterly cold. As he gave Sebulba a hasty rub-down, he wished he could build a fire, but it would be safer not to risk someone seeing the smoke against the clear night sky.

Resting on his haunches next to the prone form of the prince, he placed one hand on the broad chest, the other against Qui-Gon's forehead. The prince's skin was hot, though his chest still rose and fell with relative ease. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he could heal the prince once his energy was restored; what worried him was that Qui-Gon could be dead before then.

He sent a quick pulse of healing through his hands and then forced himself to leave Qui-Gon's side in order to forage. He didn't have to go far before he had enough fir branches to make a tolerable bed, as well as a number of wild mushrooms.

Water was another matter altogether; his skin was empty - he'd used it all in his attempt to clean the prince's wound. An extra half-hour of searching proved fruitful as he discovered sweet cactus fern growing in small clumps at the base of a small hill. The juices the plant hoarded could keep both himself and Qui-Gon in enough liquid to last them several days. He broke off a limb and squeezed it, trickling the milky fluid into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, quenching his thirst and washing the dust of battle and the acrid bite of fear out of his mouth. He plucked several more segments to have ready for Qui-Gon when he needed them, then decided it was past time to return to their shelter.

Qui-Gon had thrashed while he was gone and new blood stained the cloth around the wound. He decided he couldn't risk foraging again until after his charge had improved. Breaking off a small limb of the sweet fern, he wrung it over Qui-Gon's open mouth, gradually trickling fluid into him. He would need a great deal of liquid to replace the blood he'd lost, but more than a trickle at a time would choke him.

Qui-Gon calmed as though sensing his return and lay still, though his breathing had worsened, rasping in a sound of pain with every inhalation. He looked pale, his cheeks sunken, but his breathing remained constant. His hair had matted into tangles around his shoulders and Obi-Wan swept it back off his skin, noticing in the process that Qui-Gon was no longer sweating. His flesh felt taut and dry, too hot... a fever, and that meant infection.

He would need even more liquid to combat the effects of the toxins in his system.

Obi-Wan squeezed harder, wringing a last few drops out of the sweet fern, then sighed. It still held liquid, but he would have to chew the stalks and suck the rest from inside; he only had a limited supply with him so he would have to find a way to share that with Qui-Gon.

He made a hasty mattress out of the fir branches, leaving his meager meal in one corner and then returned to the prince's side. He moved Qui-Gon as carefully as he could, but the short trip into the makeshift lean-to nonetheless elicited moans of pain and he was sure the wound was further damaged.

Obi-Wan sat with his legs apart, the prince cradled between them, head on Obi-Wan's stomach. He reached across the Qui- Gon's body to rest his hands on the wound, closing his eyes and using the last of his flagging energy to encourage the cells to knit together, closing the wound again.

Exhausted, but satisfied the prince would survive at least the next few hours, he closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep, leaving the chewed fronds for the horse.

Obi-Wan woke with a start, blinking in the darkness. The moon had risen, its pale light slivering into their hideout through the limbs he'd cut.

Qui-Gon lay deathly still in his lap, and for a heart- sickening moment he almost thought the prince was dead, but he was still warm, his chest rising and falling slowly. He moaned softly, and Obi-Wan reached to soothe him, stroking his tangled hair automatically. The stallion nickered nervously in the background, but Obi-Wan paid it no mind.

"Thirsty," Qui-Gon husked. He tried to move, then grunted with pain. "Hurts!"

Obi-Wan stroked his forehead and popped a piece of sweet fern into his mouth, chewing it to extract the nourishing fluid. He bent over to let it trickle from his mouth to Qui-Gon's where it dropped awkwardly onto the prince's mouth, oozing away onto his chin. Sighing, Obi-Wan accepted the necessity to close the distance between their lips.

Qui-Gon's tongue darted out to lick his cracked lips, then he lifted his head, sealing their mouths together, sucking greedily at the precious moisture. Obi-Wan nearly jerked back as the eager tongue lapped at his lips, then reminded himself of his greater duty, remaining still, chewing to free more and more of the liquid for Qui-Gon to drink.

He felt oddly giddy, lightheaded and strangely reckless. He was keenly aware of the prince's heavy bulk lying between his legs and partly on top of his body, and the sensation both pleased and discomfited him. The angle was awkward, and their noses bumped one another's chins, but that did not diminish the intimacy of the gesture, and Obi-Wan realized he would have done far more than this in the interests of preserving the prince's life, had circumstances required it.

And enjoyed it, came the niggling thought.

He pushed it away, aside from his vows, he was too honorable a man to take advantage of another in that manner. The prince was at his mercy, injured and quite likely dying, Obi-Wan himself the only obstacle between Qui-Gon and death.

He pulled away as he exhausted the moisture of the frond he chewed and Qui-Gon's hand flailed against his leg. "More," begged the prince in a hoarse voice.

"Shh, easy," soothed Obi-Wan, sliding his palm over the prince's cheek. "I've got you." He fumbled for another piece of the fern, chewing it and then feeding it to the prince, mouths locked together in order to avoid losing any of the precious moisture.

In the morning, after he'd finished with Qui-Gon's wound, he'd have to find more of the fern, or better yet fresh water, but until then, every single drop the plant yielded had to be consumed.

In the meantime he tried not to think of how soft the prince's tongue was as it slid into his mouth, searching for the liquid, or how solid the prince felt against his body.

It took a long time before all the reeds, save two that Obi- Wan tucked aside for morning, were sucked dry. The prince seemed to settle and though his skin was still hot and dry, his breathing had eased considerably.

Obi-Wan ate his meager meal of mushrooms, the deep, earthy taste filling his belly, and then lay back, his head cushioned by the rotting wood. He deliberately calmed his breathing and forced himself to sleep; he would need all the energy he could muster in the morning if Qui-Gon were to have a chance to live.


	23. Chapter 23

Dawn light crept through a chink in the lean-to, making Obi-Wan blink awake. Qui-Gon still lay on him, the prince's head pillowed on one of his thighs; the position looked uncomfortable and Obi-Wan's leg had fallen asleep, hanging like dead weight. He bit his lip, dismayed; if they had been attacked he would have been useless to defend them. He sat still, trying to flex his toes and work some blood back into the aching limb. Qui-Gon felt the motion and his forehead pinched in a frown, his lips moving. They parted, his breath making a faint mist as it escaped them, and Obi-Wan felt a flash of memory-- the sensation of that warm breath, and the surprising silk of the lips under his own. And then hot liquid velvet lapping inside his mouth, touching his tongue...

He hardened a little just from the stray thought, and his eyes widened with dismay. That sensation was part of what had made Sira make those soft ecstatic whimpers when Qui-Gon kissed her. That tongue had teased blood to the surface of her flesh, and Shmi's, bedding the two so close together that the women both bore the marks at once! And here he was, feeling carnal lust for the prince... for his charge... for a man! And worse yet, for a man who had so little respect for his partners and for himself that he bedded a new one whenever it suited his fancy, moving on to the next and the next completely without thought or guilt!

Obi-Wan set his chin. He would have to purify himself thoroughly when he had the chance. But for now, the prince was still ill; Obi-Wan would have to find another time to accept and then release his confusion, lust, and anger. First on the agenda was a small measure of liquid, both for himself and the prince.

Digging into his meager ration of the sweet cactus fern, he broke one open, letting the liquid fall into the prince's mouth. He didn't want to risk feeding the prince from his mouth at the moment, with his body already responding so eagerly to the man. Chewing on the fern, he swallowed the rest of the liquid himself.

The feeling was returning painfully to his leg and so he carefully moved Qui-Gon until he lay completely on the ground. Folding his legs in front of himself, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, gathering his strength. He pushed his worries and doubts aside along with the discomfort of the hard ground beneath him and the pins- and-needles feeling in his leg.

He reached out blindly, finding Qui-Gon's wound and laying his hands down upon it. While it was not worse than the day before, infection had set in and spread alarmingly. He didn't want to waste another moment, so he laid his hands on Qui-Gon's bare skin and mustered all his concentration, pouring energy into the process of healing.

He ignored sweat dripping over his eyebrows and onto his lids, his mouth working slightly as he felt the blood surging through Qui-Gon, healing the last of the torn flesh. The infection would take longer to subdue, but now that the tissue had healed, Qui-Gon could begin recovering strength to fight it on his own. Finishing before he could dangerously exhaust his energy reserves, Obi-Wan stood, swaying a bit; he was stiff from the lingering chill of the air and exhausted from the depth of the healing.

This time he led Sebulba with him, and dared to extend the radius of his search by a few hundred yards, but the forest was frustratingly barren of streams or springs. If he'd had the leisure, he would have set out water catchers the previous evening. He knew how to gather water when there was none-- he could have dug a two-foot pit and placed a stone in the middle of a sagging oiled skin suspended over a camp cup, or at worst he could have set out cupped leaves and then licked the moisture they gathered. But Qui-Gon had been his concern, and there was the cactus fern.

If only he'd realized how badly he would react to using it...

Obi-Wan sighed, then retraced his steps to the fern grove, letting Sebulba graze for moisture and breaking off a considerable supply while trying to make the grove continue to appear undisturbed by human hands. When he was satisfied that he had done all he could, he led the horse back to Qui- Gon's side and tethered it. Steeling himself, he broke off a piece of fern and began to chew.

To his relief and dismay the prince responded very differently this time to the enforced kiss. Obi-Wan had to force Qui-Gon's mouth open with his own lips and even when he began to trickle the liquid into him, the prince barely managed to swallow.

The fever was taking its toll and didn't seem to be improving at all. Obi-Wan would have to risk venturing further afield to find some water. He debated going immediately, but ultimately decided that he was too weak from his efforts at healing Qui-Gon and his earlier foraging. Instead he laid himself out alongside the prince, lying close to the fevered body.

Again, with nothing more than his exhaustion to distract him, his body reacted to the nearness of the prince. Angry with himself, he turned his back to the prince, but the new position left his backside exposed to the heat of the man, which only served to increase his unwilling arousal.

Turning, he faced the prince, watching the soft rise and fall of Qui-Gon's chest, noting the way the fever had pulled the prince's skin tight. Already Qui-Gon had begun to lose weight, cheeks beginning to hold the sunken look of the invalid.

His shirt was torn and rucked up past his nipples, which were a pale pink against the unnatural pallor of his skin. The scar, brightly pink, like a garish splash of paint, stood out, livid within the white expanse of the prince's abdomen.

Examining such details seemed to have little affect on his newfound ardor and Obi-Wan questioned himself. Why was he feeling this way? Had the prince's lewd activities and sexual innuendo had such an affect on his mind that his body was now affected by the man's mere presence?

Obi-Wan frowned. He had never had a problem with his vows of chastity, beyond the natural inclinations of a teenage boy; when those hormonally charged days had been left behind, Obi-Wan had carried on quite secure in his ability to turn his sexual energies to more fruitful endeavors. Why then was he reacting this way to a man who annoyed and frustrated him no end? A man who was spoiled and arrogant. A man who had little regard for Obi-Wan himself except as another body, a servant to protect him and possibly a bedmate to satisfy his baser urges.

Obi-Wan hated to think that he himself was reacting with that same baseness to the prince's presence now that the man was completely at his mercy. Surely he himself was not a man to have such physical responses without some emotion to spur them on. But that would mean-- no, he was tired and had narrowly escaped from the fighting with his own life, while the prince lay, barely clinging to life thanks only to Obi-Wan. It was only natural that he would begin to feel a closeness to the man, things were certain to go back to normal when the prince was once again his annoying self.

Obi-Wan purged his mind of his thoughts, slipping first into a light meditation and from there into a healing sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

Obi-Wan rose with the dawn, feeling much refreshed; his deep, healing sleep had rid his body of its all-encompassing exhaustion. The morning was warmer than the previous one, birds singing in the branches, and he gazed down at Qui-Gon, who lay quiet. Obi-Wan laid his hand on the prince's forehead and snatched it back with alarm. Qui-Gon was burning up with fever.

The prince was disturbed by his touch, and moaned faintly, a husky breath. His body wasn't fighting the infection and Obi-Wan began to wonder fearfully if the soldier's blade had been poisoned.

One thing was for certain: they needed more water than the cactus fern could provide. Qui-Gon needed to drink deeply and Obi-Wan needed to bathe him so that evaporation would cool his skin. Adults frequently reacted poorly to such high fevers; sometimes there was damage to the mind associated with such illness.

He gave Qui-Gon what water he could from the remainder of the fern that he had gathered, then rose. He was going to have to risk the trip now; there was little more he could do to heal Qui-Gon using his natural enhancement techniques. Qui-Gon was a strong man; perhaps he could withstand the ravages of the fever for yet a while.

"Rest quietly, my Prince. I must go to fetch water."

Qui-Gon shifted restlessly and Obi-Wan accepted that as an answer. He looked for Sebulba, who had tugged loose from his makeshift tether and wandered to graze at the underbrush. Obi-Wan sighed, realizing he'd forgotten to feed the animal. The horse was churning up the ground and eating away the camouflaging leaves, making their campsite obvious to anyone who drew near it.

He'd have to deal with that when he could; maybe he could bring back something for the stallion to eat. He took out his brown cloak and departed, using it to camouflage himself as much as possible against the natural hues of the forest floor.

It was a long trip, longer than he remembered. They'd come a great distance in their reckless plunge through the forest and toward the graveyard, spurred by fear and dismay. Obi- Wan walked it cautiously, keeping an eye out for any signs of sentries or other soldiers, but saw nothing. When he arrived at the edge of the forest, he was further reassured-the roadway looked bare as far as his eyes could see in either direction.

He remembered clattering through at least two streams-- or perhaps one which meandered-- during the desperate gallop. He should be able to fill their water skins there. Turning toward the water he remembered, Obi-Wan kept cautiously to the edge of the woods, hugging the cover it provided in case anyone should happen along the rolling dips and hills in the road and surprise him.

It took him a half-hour's walk to find the stream again, trickling peacefully between muddy banks. He dipped the water skins full from a pool in the nearest bend, drank his fill, and then dipped them again. He tied them carefully to his belt, wishing he could have risked bringing the horse to carry them back. It would have been both easier and faster, and Sebulba too could have drunk, leaving more water in the skins that could be used solely for the prince.

He was about to head back when he realized the forest had gone still. Crouching against the trunk of a tree he listened carefully, finally making out the drumming of horses' hooves.

"They came this way, my lord," called a voice and Obi-Wan realized with dismay that they were headed right for him.

He skimmed up a nearby tree, barely reaching the first leaves for cover when a party of a half dozen men on horses passed below him. They colors they wore were the all-to- familiar blue and grey of Valorum's estate and the man himself sat among them, grim-faced and silent.

It was as bad as he feared; they were following the obvious trail that he and the prince had left in their wake during their mad dash through the forest with their ambushers in their wake. He could only hope that they would not pick up the trail leading away from the scene of the battle, but covering their tracks had been the least of his concerns at the time.

He trailed them silently as they made their way to the grave site. Obi-Wan shivered at the sight of the high stones, the memory of the battle washing over him. He'd made a terrible error in judgment, letting the prince travel virtually unaccompanied to Valorum's, and it had nearly cost them their lives. It still could come down to that; even if Valorum's men didn't discover the second trail, the fever could take Qui-Gon.

He could hear very little as the men went over the grave site, but they were obviously upset, Valorum especially.

"Damn it Bakay, are the prince and his man among the dead?"

Obi-Wan couldn't make out Bakay's reply, but he was shaking his head.

"Then find out where they went," snapped the Lord, his face growing grimmer.

Obi-Wan held his breath, but his hopes were dashed when an excited yell sounded from one of Valorum's men. "I've found their trail, my lord!"


	25. Chapter 25

Obi-Wan mouthed a silent curse and fell in behind Valorum's party, staying as far back as he could. Nobody appeared to be looking back, their attention focused forward on the scout who led the , and as the breeze shifted, Obi-Wan realized he too could hear the excited words.

"There was a horse, dragging something, and a man walking. I taste blood in the mud... I think someone was injured. The prints are from one of the light horses... those would be the prince or his bodyguard, I think, based on the earlier tracks we followed. None of the horses shod with a crossbar came this way." The man straightened, gazing keenly into the forest. "I believe the man walking was the bodyguard, milord. His boots are smaller than the prince's."

"That would make the wounded man...." The voices faded and Obi-Wan cursed the fickle forest breeze that carried them away.

He worked his way forward quickly; he would only have one chance to head them off. The thoroughness of Valorum's guide was both a blessing and a curse; it would be harder to fool the man, but at least Obi-Wan had the time to try.

At about the midway point between the site of the battle and the hollowed-out tree where he'd left Qui-Gon lay a large patch of brambles that he'd had to cross with the Prince. They had walked some way north, hoping to go around it, but in the end he'd been forced to push his way through. He would attempt to make it look as if they had given up finding a way around the briars before the point where they'd actually crossed them, and instead headed back in the general direction of the main road.

If Valorum's man fell for the ruse, Obi-Wan would attempt to cover their real tracks behind the bramble patch so that even when they realized they were on the wrong trail, they would be unable to pick up the real one.

The prince had not been fit to move that morning, certainly not with any speed, and Obi-Wan doubted there would have been that great a change. Obi-Wan spared a moment to worry about his charge. He had already been gone far longer than he'd intended and Qui-Gon desperately needed the water Obi- Wan carried in the skins. He had no way of knowing whether or not the prince was still alive. Of course the answer to that would matter little if Valorum and his men discovered their bolt-hole.

Using a bunch of brambles fashioned into a broom of sorts, which had only cost him a few dozen scratches, Obi-Wan swept away the tracks beyond their fictitious turning point. On his way back he randomly dropped stones and leaves, as well as bits and pieces from his makeshift broom.

The spot he'd chosen as their turnoff was where they'd rested a few moments, making it a natural place for them to have turned. Hastily curving a small tree branch to match the shape of Sebulba's shoe, Obi-Wan began to make a new trail. The ground here was mossy and hard-packed, he would only need to leave the odd horseshoe imprint and boot track. Reproducing the odd drag of the Prince's pallet proved to be more difficult. In the end he lay on the ground and dragged his legs behind him, even going so far as to cut one of his fingers, leaving a small blood trail along with the other signs.

He had only completed several dozen yards of the false trail when he spied Valorum's group arriving at the point where his ruse began. Ripping a piece of his leggings, he wrapped it in a stone and flung it as far as he could.

He held little hope that the trail would hold them for long, but perhaps it would be long enough for him to erase their real tracks. Stealthily making his way to where they had crossed the brambles, he noted it was beginning to grow dark. Though it would be several hours before it was too dark for Valorum and his men to continue, the encroaching darkness would hinder the tracker's ability to stay with the trail.

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh of relief when the search party veered to follow the false trail. Perhaps Valorum's man was not so competent as he seemed; he appeared to be following the branch-stamped tracks without hesitation.

However, just as quickly as his spirits rose, they were dashed. After several yards of following the scattered imprints Obi-Wan had left, the man abandoned his horse to study the ground closely. He could not see any more than that from his vantage, not without a risk of exposing himself to someone's view. But within minutes, the entire party was retracing their steps, and he knew that the tracker was worth whatever Valorum paid him. It was most unfortunate that his competence had to work to the detriment of the prince's safety.

His desperate ruse had gained perhaps ten minutes at best, not nearly enough for darkness to discourage them from pursuing the trail for the night. Something else would have to be done.

Back at the junction of the real trail and the false one, they conversed tensely, in low voices. Some of the men drew out hard trail biscuit and gnawed, listening to the quiet words. Obi-Wan sighed deeply. Now they knew they were being watched, they would also be aware that they had to be very close to their quarry. However, the pause for meal and planning gave him a small respite. Given luck, it might be just what he needed.

He sank to his heels, squatting and bracing against the trunk of a tree, and settled his mind, glad of Pater Mundi's lessons in achieving one's center in times of great stress. After only a few seconds, he could begin to sense the ripples of energy around him. The tense, jangling discord of the men. His own nervous concern. The peaceful steadfastness of the trees; small flickers of brightness from birds and tiny forest animals-- and more.

He reached out toward a presence on the edge of his conscience. Vague feelings of aggression and territoriality, combined with hunger, danced on the fringes of his awareness. Aware that there was a price for meddling directly in the stream of nature, he nevertheless reached out to them. Food. Luscious and abundant, and water to drink. Near the man-animals. He made pictures of the words, felt interest from the predatory minds he had sensed. He only hoped they were not lethal to humans-- such as bears or wolves. Animal deaths as a result of this abuse of power would be fearsome enough on his conscience without human deaths added to them.

They party had resumed the proper path now; he felt them drawing near and melted back further into the woods, glad that the onset of night added to the camouflage of his robe. He would not want to be between the search party and the... boars, he realized, hearing a low grunt. Wild boars. Dangerous to man and horse alike, but without the aggression and natural weaponry of many large predators. Still, this party was ill-equipped to deal with them; they carried no spears, and were probably not riding horses trained in the hunt.

He heard one of those same horses whinny nervously, warning its rider, but the shy was ignored. Then suddenly angry squeals broke out-- Obi-Wan could feel the boars, feel their anger that the man-animals were guarding the food they wanted and needed. The boars, secure in their numbers, decided to charge, not fearing the horses. They knew that these tamed animals would run rather than fight.

Then a horse screamed its panic and Obi-Wan saw it rear. Another joined, and suddenly the disciplined knot of men erupted into chaos as the leading animals bolted and the others followed suit. Many bolted into the briars, drawing curses from their riders and pained whinnies as they thrashed mindlessly through the underbrush to escape the threat of the long-tusked boars.

Others bolted back out of the forest, resisting their riders' attempts to turn them. Valorum and his tracker had been on the forest floor examining the marks of the trail; Valorum managed to mount his steed before his attempt to master it failed. The beast crashed into the forest with the tracker clinging at the stirrup, not caring to be left to the tender mercies of the wild pigs. His desperate bounding leaps prevented him being dragged, but Obi-Wan winced, knowing that could not last for long.

Their enemies scattered, the boars milled, seeking the food Obi-Wan had promised. They pawed the ground, snuffling with their snouts and turning over the rich loam. Obi-Wan watched, glad that none had been shot or stabbed in the panic, but he could not assuage their growing anger, bewilderment, and feelings of betrayal-- it was as though their instincts had lied to them; they could not understand.

He bowed his head, acknowledging his guilt, but his duty had been the greater obligation. He would have to confess this sin to Pater Mundi; mental domination-- especially when it involved lying to a lesser being who could not understand the value systems that made it necessary-- was all but forbidden by the Order.

Dismissing his guilt for later, he decided that by the time Valorum managed to regroup and gather his men, it would be too late for them to resume their search for himself and Qui-Gon that evening; they would have to return to the estates or camp. Luckily none of the horses had bolted toward his and Qui-Gon's own small camp.

Obi-Wan found the trail beyond where the boars had obscured it, and made certain that no vestiges of it remained to be followed in the morning. Patting the water skin that slapped against his hip, he was glad to see Sebulba's silhouette against the darkening forest. The horse scented him and whickered uneasily; Obi-Wan's heart shot to his throat as he heard a low, rasping moan respond to the sound.

He vaulted the tree hastily, eyes greedily seeking Qui-Gon. He realized with dismay that the prince had thrashed, tossing off his cloak. His hair was matted with dirt and leaves, and his face was white and haggard, except for his cheeks, that had flushed bright, burning with hectic color. Obi-Wan fell to his knees at the prince's side, noting with alarm that he seemed to have lost flesh during the day-- the fever was ravaging him from the inside. His eyes snapped open, burning brightly in his haggard face; he seemed not to recognize Obi-Wan, reaching for him.

"My Mirim," he rasped. "I wronged you, my wife..." Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan's wrist in a deathly strong, earnest grip. "Forgive me, that I may die with a clear conscience? I do not deserve it, but I would ask this mercy..."

"It's I, Obi-Wan," he tried to reclaim his wrist, but the prince's grasp was too strong. "I've brought water, and you aren't going to die." He felt hysterical emotion rising in him-- the first time he had ever felt panic so strongly; some part of him split away to analyze it clinically for what it was. The rest of him stared into Qui-Gon's delirious expression, touched by his pain.

"Shmi... promise me... take care of our son..." Prince Qui-Gon commanded, his eyes wandering vaguely. Abruptly the unnatural strength seemed to leave him and his eyes sank shut, his grip on Obi-Wan's wrist finally loosening and falling away completely.

Obi-Wan scrabbled for the water skin, cursing.


	26. Chapter 26

The most pressing matter was to cool the prince down. There was no time for finesse; grabbing the waistband of Qui-Gon's leggings in his hands, Obi-Wan tore them from the prince's body and then did the same with the bloodied tunic. Using the prince's own leggings, he wet the material down and began to wipe Qui-Gon's skin.

The proud face was drawn and sunken, the color of fine bone porcelain and the skin beneath his fingertips and cloth felt as delicate as that same china. And hot. A plague had swept the kingdom some one hundred years ago and several of the older members of the Order had been among those offering solace and comfort to the dying. They told tales of men burning up with fever so great that it caused their skin to catch fire, death becoming a welcoming end to their unbearable suffering.

Obi-Wan had always discounted these accounts as tales told to scare the youngest members of the Order, but the heat of the prince's skin made him wonder if perhaps they were true. Certainly he had never encountered anyone with such a high fever and he began to worry for the prince's faculties, should he live.

Working as quickly as he could, Obi-Wan kept his cloth wet, running down the prince's body, that small detached part of him, noting that despite the color and weight loss, Qui- Gon's chest and abdomen were still muscled and his sex lay heavily against his thigh, large even while quiescent.

Taking a small measure of water into his own mouth, Obi-Wan closed his mouth over Qui-Gon's. The prince's lips were dry and like rice paper, Obi-Wan felt as if too much pressure upon them would rip the skin open, but he pushed his tongue between the prince's lips, parting them, and then dribbled the water from his mouth to Qui-Gon's.

The prince choked, the water spilling out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin, disappearing among the short hairs of his beard. Pushing his panic to the deepest corner of his mind, Obi-Wan took another drink and tried again, letting only a drop or two pass from his mouth into Qui- Gon's.

He gently massaged the prince's throat, coaxing the man into swallowing and then dribbled a few more drops down the parched throat. Drop by drop Obi-Wan fed Qui-Gon until all the water had evaporated from the prince's body, whereupon he wet the man down once more and began again to siphon the liquid into Qui-Gon's mouth.

He repeated the cycle several times, stopping only to water the stallion, who had moved close and nosed him in the ribs, trying to get to the sloshing water skin.

Finally the water ran low. Gathering his strength and energy to himself, Obi-Wan cupped the prince's head in his hands and placed his forehead against Qui-Gon's. He poured as much healing power into his charge as he could, leaching his own energy into the prince's body as much as he was able. Unsure if his efforts had been successful, but exhausted in body, mind and spirit, Obi-Wan lay down next to Qui-Gon and fell into a fitful slumber.

It was nearly dark when he woke again. He was warm, his body recovered from its arduous duties the previous day; he snuffled and burrowed deeper into the warm covers that blanketed him. His eyes flew open as he remembered their circumstances, discovering that his 'warm blanket' was in fact made of living flesh. The prince had shifted in the night, turning to his side and wrapping himself around his bodyguard. Seeking his body heat, Obi-Wan told himself, perfectly natural under the circumstances.

Still, that didn't explain why his own body was curved into the prince's hold, his own shaft heavy with the first stirrings of arousal. The last time he had woken in such a state he'd been a teenager, still working to control his body's reactions. Since then all such energies had been released and gathered back for more useful endeavors.

His next discussion with Pater Mundi was going to be long and painful. They should have sent an older monk, confirmed in the order and experienced in dealing with the outside world. Not a green boy who apparently had little control of his passions and had no idea how he would be tried by this mission.

It only confirmed his suspicions that someone in the monastery was sympathetic to the interests who were trying to see to the prince's death. Obi-Wan firmed his jaw. Whether he was fit or not, he would expend his last breath trying to see that his task succeeded. His own failings were troublesome, but not yet crucial impediments to his chances for success in protecting Qui-Gon...

Qui-Gon, who was nestling close to him as though he were Sira! The prince seemed to be dreaming, murmuring beneath his breath, his arms curving possessively around Obi-Wan's slim form, one hand trailing down his back to his hips. It made Obi-Wan's shaft tingle and fill, and he pushed at the prince's chest gingerly, trying to ease himself out of the gentle embrace. But Qui-Gon was strong in spite of his bout with the fever, and Obi-Wan could not dislodge him.

This is how Sira felt in his arms, the thought flashed giddily through his mind. Engulfed. Desired.

That was enough to persuade him to abandon thoughts of escape without waking the prince. He pried his way out with determination. The fever seemed fully gone, perhaps a result of the fresh water and the last healing he had done, but Qui-Gon was still weak-- otherwise, Obi-Wan suspected he could not have extricated himself without cooperation.

Qui-Gon's eyes blinked open, squinting against the morning light, and he looked up at Obi-Wan. He seemed calm, rational-- clearly he recognized Obi-Wan's face, not thinking he saw some specter of a departed wife. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then he swallowed with a dry click and tried again, raspy but audible.

"Do you have water?"

"I used what I brought to bathe you and break the fever, and spared some for Sebulba." Obi-Wan responded, looking at his dry water skins with dismay. "But there is cactus fern."

Qui-Gon tried to raise himself to look, but slumped back, apparently exhausted by that and by his effort to hold Obi- Wan close.

Obi-Wan grabbed a stem of fern and began to chew quickly, spitting out the pith and holding the water in his mouth. He bent to Qui-Gon, touching their lips together. The prince's mouth opened and Obi-Wan let the liquid flow between them, feeling Qui-Gon's hand come up to steady his head. The prince's tongue darted forth, seeking more of the moisture; Obi-Wan sat back and chewed again, then repeated the process, again feeling the warm hand come to rest at his nape.

He relaxed eventually, growing used to the prince's acquiescence and the awkward intimacy of the gesture. Qui- Gon's belly growled as the water reached it, dry tissues craving more, and Obi-Wan worked to satisfy them, forgetting himself in the rhythm of what he was doing-- until he finished one drink only to find that the hand at his nape suddenly seemed to be made of lead, too heavy to move.

His eyes flew open with shock; Qui-Gon's tongue was in his mouth, and it flickered about, exploring behind his lips and darting past his teeth to touch his own tongue. It was far too late to shut his mouth and exclude it. Off-balance, he could not wrench away; Qui-Gon's other arm came up and imprisoned him, locking around his waist.

The prince drank-- of him. Obi-Wan squirmed without result, a frantic protest muffled in his throat, silenced by the slow determined strokes of his prince's warm tongue and the moving pressure of his soft lips. He felt his penis come urgently to life, and Qui-Gon snugged their bodies together tightly, rocking against it. Obi-Wan protested again, a wordless cry, feeling the prince's sturdy thigh sliding between his legs-- and for a moment, he was no longer sure if the sound he made was a demand for freedom or a plea for more.

Then Qui-Gon rolled him to his back and continued to devour him lazily, and Obi-Wan abruptly understood. His healing had worked to disperse the fever and remove the remainder of the illness; the prince's display of extreme weakness had been only a ruse. A ruse designed to make him complacent and give Qui-Gon the chance to do this, to take this from him unwilling.

Fury rose as swiftly as lust. He could not kick or bring a knee to bear, but his thigh was sufficient, and he used it to its best effect, snapping it upward and mashing the prince's testicles roughly. Qui-Gon released him with a bewildered, pained yelp, rolling away to protect his sensitive genitals.

"A man who would feign continued illness in order to take sexual advantage of the comrade who has tended him as he lay at death's door does not deserve the care that brought him back from it!" Obi-Wan sputtered, rolling to his feet. He kicked the rest of the sweet fern to Qui-Gon's side and rose, stalking over to the horse. The broad body concealed his face from Qui-Gon's gaze and he stood there for a moment, shaking, his body confused and aching. He wanted to go back. Sith, he wanted to lie in Qui-Gon's arms again. He let his head tilt forward, his forehead resting against Sebulba's sleek ribs.

Control. He must regain control.

After a minute of measured breathing, he raised his head. "Since you are feeling so well, we will be away from here. It is dawn, and Valorum's search party will have regrouped in the night. They will be moving shortly. I assume you can ride!" His voice sharpened with resentment.

In answer, Qui-Gon staggered to his feet. His tunic was bloody, sliced and torn, his leggings gone, and he made a poor, decidedly unregal figure as he gathered his cloak and the water skins. Obi-Wan flipped the saddle blanket onto Sebulba's back and cinched the saddle on, then gave Qui-Gon a boost into it, feeling a small stab of vengeful pleasure when the prince winced as his tender underparts slapped into the seat.

"I will walk behind and attend to our tracks," Obi-Wan informed the prince sharply, and they set out without further speech.


	27. Chapter 27

Qui-Gon took his direction from the scant remains of their trail in, happy it was there as he had no idea where they were. He squinted at the dawn, wondering how many days he'd lost -his bodyguard's cheeks had been rough with more than a day's growth, but whether it was two days or two weeks, Qui- Gon didn't know.

He'd awoken with the boy in his arms, warm and real after disturbing dreams that included a madman with strange markings on his face. He'd also dreamed of his late wife, Shmi, and his bodyguard making slow love to him each in turn. But it seemed that they hadn't been dreams at all. Thinking on it he could clearly remember the ambush and the battle among the gravestones; the casual cruelty in the eyes of the man with the red and black tattoo as he had attacked, his knife slipping into Qui-Gon's body and the burst of pain.

One hand flew to his belly and he looked down, amazed to find only new pink skin where a gapping wound should be. He pressed experimentally, finding the area tender but not sore; he doubted there would even be a scar. Eyes narrowing he twisted around on the saddle to look back at his bodyguard. Kenobi was some ways back, working diligently to erase all signs of their passage. The boy had done this to him, kept him alive and healed what surely had been a fatal wound.

He heard Kenobi's words again; "A man who would feign continued illness in order to take sexual advantage of the comrade who has tended him as he lay at death's door does not deserve the care that brought him back from it!" It had been harsh payment indeed, though it grated that Kenobi had automatically thought the worst of him.

He straightened in the saddle, wincing as his abused genitals rubbed against the leather. His memories of the time between the attack and waking up with his arms full of Kenobi were hazy and unclear, but surely the boy had kissed him. He knew before their mouths met this morning what Kenobi would taste like, this was not the first time his tongue had licked at that mouth.

The boy had not fought him, not until he rolled him onto his back, and he could still feel the brand of Obi-Wan's hard length against his thigh. He shook his head and tried to sort out his memories and dreams, disturbed by his inability to distinguish what was real from what was not.

Perhaps Kenobi had been feeding him water from the sweet fern all along, and his delirious mind had mistaken the meaning of that... his heart sank. That must surely be what had happened. His dreams and reality had tangled themselves confusingly, and as a result he'd pushed too hard, made his move too soon.

He sagged a little in the saddle, feeling weary. It would be a long time before he tasted that mouth again, he suspected. It might even be a long time before Kenobi was ready to speak to him civilly once more. And there was only the memory of Kenobi's arousal to cling to as evidence that his bodyguard didn't completely despise him.

They emerged into the sun and soon Qui-Gon's head was swimming, spinning dizzily with each lurch of the saddle. They stopped at a stream and Sebulba drank heavily; Kenobi filled their water skins wordlessly and gave Qui-Gon one so that he could quench his own burning thirst. Then they proceeded, a little slower than before, avoiding the road. The angle of the sun told Qui-Gon that they were headed back toward the castle.

He sighed, his posterior aching with every shift against the saddle's stiff leather. It was going to be a long trip back. He just hoped it would be uneventful.


	28. Chapter 28

By the time the castle walls hove into sight over the horizon, Qui-Gon had begun to think he could not endure much more. His bottom was rubbed raw, his head ached miserably, and he felt weak as a kitten. The sight only served to tire him more; he realized that sheer adrenaline and stubbornness were keeping him in the saddle, and that he had no energy reserves left to draw on.

He felt himself sway; his bodyguard cursed and then vaulted up behind him, steadying him with warm, solid arms. Qui-Gon was too weary and desolate even to appreciate the sensation of the lean, strong body pressed snugly against his, holding him upright.

In his weakened state he surely would have fallen from the horse had Kenobi not been keeping him in place. Sebulba whinnied and snorted, tossing his head and sped his pace again, though his flank was covered in sweat and Qui-Gon could feel the great beast's muscles quivering with strain. It reminded him that, though the worst injured, he had not been the only one deprived of food and drink, but there was no betraying tremor in the arms that were wrapped around him.

A shout from the castle gate presaged their opening wide, a flood of people ran down to meet their wounded prince. Qui- Gon felt too tired to answer the inquiries bombarding his ears, and was glad when Obi-Wan spurred Sebulba steadily through the masses, shaking his head impatiently at queries, saying only "He is tired but well."

They came to a halt inside the stable courtyard, finally pressed in too tightly to move. The chamberlain who served the crown prince was there; Qui-Gon caught his eye amidst the multitude. The chamberlain gestured for quiet, and an expectant hush fell. "Duke Valorum sent word that the prince never arrived." The chamberlain shoved through the throng to Sebulba's stirrup. "What happened?"

"Prince Qui-Gon was attacked," Obi-Wan's voice carried strongly, then paused for the swell of shocked voices to rise and fade. He reached inside his cloak, and drew out the vest. "Our attackers wore this livery."

The chamberlain went white. "Valorum's men!" The courtyard exploded in horrified chatter and wailing.

Obi-Wan sat still, supporting the prince inside his arms. "Let messengers be sent to summon Valorum to court," he commanded, and the roar went silent, everyone wanting to hear his words. "I would hear his explanation of this." Qui-Gon could only imagine the expression on his face; it caused those nearest to back away, then chaos exploded again in the silence.

The chamberlain snatched the nearest person and barked instructions; soldiers immediately began to scatter.

"Have men bring a litter!" Obi-Wan shouted over the din. "The prince requires rest and hot broth!"

Qui-Gon felt a small surge of resentment at the way Kenobi was ordering his people about, but he was too weary to protest. When a path opened to let through two stable-boys with a litter between them, Qui-Gon allowed himself to be helped down into it with relief.

He wanted a hot bath, but by the time he found the energy to voice the command, they had cleared the courtyard and were moving down the hallway, Kenobi striding at his side, one hand wrapped around the edge of the litter. Looking up into his bodyguard's face, he tried to read Kenobi's emotions, but Obi-Wan's ffire for the evening meal.

She already had a small tub and several sponges laid out for a bath and if it hadn't taken too much effort, Qui-Gon would have smiled at the efficiency of his staff.

Kenobi took the tray from her and laid it on the small table and then stripped away what remained of Qui-Gon's clothing. Was it his imagination, or were his bodyguard's fingers not as impersonal as they had been the day they'd met when Kenobi had tended his scratches? Hiding his disappointment as Kenobi stepped back and let Sira tend to him, Qui-Gon paid more attention to the boy stripping from his own clothing than he did to Sira's familiar touch.

She took her time, carefully running the sponge over his entire body; it felt good to be rid of the grime and blood of their ordeal. If he hadn't been so tired he would have enjoyed watching Kenobi's quick sponge bath, even more than being given his own, but the morning's journey and his recent injury took their toll.

He listened as Kenobi recited a clear and detailed account of the attack and the following days to a scribe. Almost before he knew it, his own bath and Kenobi's ended and Kenobi slipped on a pair of clean leggings. In moments, his bodyguard was dismissing Sira as he helped settle Qui-Gon back against his pillows.

"He won't be needing your further services tonight," he informed her curtly. Her eyes snapped with irritation, but she left silently, flouncing her skirt. Qui-Gon watched the by-play with tired interest, wondering if it meant a flicker of jealousy, or just Obi-Wan's usual suspicion. He could not tell.

Kenobi brought the tray and sat on the edge of his bed, filling a spoon and testing the broth. He rolled it on his tongue carefully, then nodded and laid the tray on the prince's chest. He began ferrying the soup from bowl to mouth efficiently, with a surprising amount of skill and few drips. Qui-Gon had little choice but let himself be fed; the weight of the full bowl on his chest ominously promised to spoil his comfortable mattress if he struggled.

The broth tasted better than anything Qui-Gon could remember, rich and meaty. His stomach growled as he swallowed, and Obi-Wan let him have a few bites of bread from the loaf Sira had also brought, first tasting the slice carefully. Finally Qui-Gon could eat no more; he felt his eyelids sinking heavily. Obi-Wan took away the bowl, and drank the remnants himself, swallowing quickly. He gnawed the bread as he moved about the room, and Qui-Gon realized he was laying out his pallet.

The prince promptly raised himself to an elbow, albeit shakily, and frowned. "I have been rude. You should have a proper bed."

Obi-Wan shrugged, not looking at him. "This is no hardship."

Qui-Gon sighed and began to kick feebly at the blankets covering his legs. "I'll summon the servants to bring you a mattress."

"That you will not!" the bodyguard informed him tartly. "You can't even stand."

Qui-Gon proved him wrong, thought he had to clutch at the bedpost to do it. He was keenly aware of his disheveled state, but he drew himself up as much as he could, finding what dignity he had remaining. However, the bell was across the room. He eyed it, knowing he could not relinquish his hold on the bedpost, and unwilling to crawl.

Kenobi stood by his blankets, looking exasperated. He folded his arms impatiently, waiting for Qui-Gon to concede. An idea struck the prince, and he sat back down on the mussed bed. "If you will not have my hospitality, then you will have my apology." His stomach tightened unpleasantly around the meal of bread and broth, but he made himself continue. "I did not feign illness this morning, or intend to trick you. I had... dreamed, and I believe I was... confused." Damn the boy, why did the words taste so bitter? He continued manfully. "In my illness, I misunderstood you offering me water. I believed that you had also kissed me, and would welcome more." He felt his cheeks redden, something he could not remember happening since he was still a lad. Doggedly, he plowed on. "Reality and dreaming mingled, with unfortunate result. I crave your forgiveness."

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment, calculating his sincerity and evaluating how much the words had cost him. "It is given."

Qui-Gon sagged with weary relief; apparently the equation had balanced.

Obi-Wan studied him again, pensive. "You must wish you could warm your bones with a bedmate, and I've dismissed Sira." He sounded chagrined. "I can summon her again, if you wish."

"No." Qui-Gon was too tired for that now; sleepiness had begun to descend on him again. He lifted his feet into the bed, and Obi-Wan came close to cover him. "I will not rest well knowing you are tossing on the stone," Qui-Gon grumbled as Obi-Wan fussed. "I would rest better if you stayed at my side, between me and any attackers." He was too tired to be crafty or persuasive, falling back on a pure truth that he would rarely have allowed himself to admit. Obi-Wan's hands stilled. "And I am too tired to trouble you," Qui-Gon concluded with a yawn.

"Very well." Kenobi's voice was quiet, and Qui-Gon was too tired to analyze his tone for deeper meaning. "I will be at your side to protect you. Rest without fear."

The last thing Qui-Gon remembered before sleep took him was the shift and rustle of the mattress as Kenobi's warm body slid under the covers at his side.


	29. Chapter 29

Obi-Wan lay stiffly on the soft mattress, listening to the quiet susurration of the prince's breathing.

He'd been far more comfortable on his pallet, and even on the ground with nothing more than pine branches, leaves and his cloak for a bed; his body was unused to such luxury as soft bedding and the slide of silky sheets. Of course, his inability to get comfortable and find sleep himself had more to do with the man lying next to him and his own reactions to him than the decadence of the bed.

He had been taught to look at the world, and more specifically himself and his place in it, with brutal honesty and though he was obviously failing his calling quite appallingly in one area, he would not allow himself to do so in others. He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that the prince had not been entirely wrong when he'd assumed that Obi-Wan was willing.

His own body had betrayed him, his shaft hardened at the proximity of the prince's body and aching, leaving him aware of an emptiness in himself that he'd never before felt. His mind may not have wanted Qui-Gon's kisses, but his body had welcomed them eagerly. His vows had never before been so sorely tested.

The late afternoon sun was pushing its way into the room, casting long shadows on the walls, but illuminating the bed and Obi-Wan turned to study the prince. He looked weary, still slightly dirt-smeared, and his cheeks were hollow with fasting and fever... but he was beautiful.

Silver touched his hair, and Obi-Wan knew how it caught the light when the long silky mane was fresh and clean, shining in the sun. His beard framed a handsome square chin, strengthening it still further, the wiry hairs neatly trimmed, giving him an air of distinction. His brow was heavy; he could look intimidating, stern, or simply regal.

He was masterful in passion, with sweat sliding down his bare, slightly weathered skin. With the veins in his arms in bold relief as he clutched another body. With his penis full of blood, hard and gleaming as it plunged in and out of a body, seeking pleasure. With his breathing heavy and soft sounds of passion coming from his throat. He was a generous lover; Sira's cries had not been those of an actress playing her part. She had enjoyed the prince's touch.

The thought of Sira brought him back to himself and Obi-Wan leapt from the bed to pace. His own penis was hard, throbbing; he'd been rubbing it with his fist. His body still betrayed him, his piety becoming a sham. Bracing himself against the rough stone wall next to the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated on releasing his arousal. The fact that he had accepted the prince's apology instead of confessing his own complicity in the morning's activities weighed heavily on him, one more confession he would need to make.

At this rate he would be an old man before his penance was complete.

More seriously, if he could not discover the source of these feelings and control them, his very calling was in jeopardy. He could not make full vows to the order until he could do so with a clear conscience and that meant having full control of his body and his faculties.

The cold of the stone finally penetrated, and Obi-Wan stepped away, his body once again under control.

Once this crisis was past, he would have to send to Pater Mundi for a replacement so that he could make his confession and mortify his flesh. He only hoped his request would not be seen as a failure, dashing his plans of joining the order as a full Knight.

Qui-Gon moaned softly, shifting restlessly. Returning to the bed, Obi-Wan slid again in between the soft sheets, touching the prince's arm with his fingers. Qui-Gon stilled immediately. A swell of emotion shivered through Obi-Wan with tender ferocity at the prince's response, and he bit back tears. It would be hard to leave Qui-Gon and return to the monastery, but the longer he stayed, the more he knew that it must happen. The skin beneath his hand felt warm and soft, but there was no way this could be construed as a sexual touch. Obi-Wan comforted himself as best he could with that small reassurance, nestling his head in the pillow.

He was tired almost to the point of hysteria, coming away from a very difficult battle and from the ordeal of healing and hiding, he reminded himself. Perhaps things would look better in the morning.


	30. Chapter 30

Qui-Gon awoke, lapped in comfort, feeling as good as he had in recent memory. He lay quite still, enjoying the sense of ease in his bones and the warmth of his companion, tucked comfortably inside the crook of his body. He resisted thought and duty, letting himself drift on the fringes of sleep, lapped in perfect bliss. The body against his was hard and slim, and he basked in its solid warmth.

He sighed with contentment, nestling closer. So good, so rare, to have a man in his bed. His father had always disapproved, so most of his liaisons had been brief and unsatisfying, lacking true intimacy. He opened his eyes slowly, letting his gaze trace over the pale shoulder in front of him. Coppery hair, and a long braid falling across the boy's cheek...

Memory flared, and Qui-Gon froze with alarm. All he needed was for his bodyguard to wake now and accuse him of unwanted caresses! He began peeling himself away carefully, moving slowly so as not to disturb the young man if possible, half- afraid that the lad would snap awake at the first motion, thinking it a threat. He breathed easier as he withdrew; Obi-Wan remained still, his breathing regular and undistressed.

At last he was lying on his side, not touching his bodyguard. He heard the soft click of the servant's door opening and glanced over. It was Sira, a steaming kettle and mugs on a tray in her hands. He put his finger to his lips, not wanting her to wake Obi-Wan, but he felt the bed shift and looked back to find his bodyguard awake and alert, tense muscles slowly relaxing.

"Put them on the table," Kenobi told her. She did, standing back when she'd done, eyes darting from one to the other. Qui-Gon knew what she was assuming and wondered if Kenobi did as well. Another glance in the boy's direction found him calm, cheeks untinged by the heat of embarrassment.

"Has Valorum been remanded into custody yet?" Obi-Wan asked the girl. She glanced briefly at Qui-Gon and he gave her a quiet nod.

"A messenger arrived first thing this morning. He's on his way. The King wants everyone in the throne room an hour before mid-day."

"Thank you," replied his bodyguard. "You can go now." Qui-Gon hid his grin as the girl stiffened and turned to him. Before he could echo the dismissal Obi-Wan spoke again. "Your services are not required."

"I can see that!" she responded tartly, looking the boy up and down before turning her nose up, her disdain obvious in her stance. She curtseyed sweetly to Qui-Gon and left without another word.

"Now she's convinced we're lovers. The whole castle will know before Valorum is brought before my father," Qui-Gon said, wondering how the boy would react. His own reaction came as a surprise; rather than looking forward to enjoying his bodyguard's discomfort, he felt a pang and wished that it were true.

"Your father will know that it is not so," Obi-Wan commented enigmatically. He rose from the bed without further comment and began to dress without pausing to bathe. "It is late, and we do not want to be the last to the audience," he prodded Qui-Gon, looking down at his buttons.

The prince also rose, feeling remarkably refreshed; the long night's rest and the company had done wonders toward restoring him.

"You healed the knife-slash that tattooed lieutenant left on me," he remembered as he pulled off his sleeping tunic, catching a glimpse of his unscarred belly. That would not have been a simple healing, and it went beyond what Obi-Wan had claimed as the limits of his ability. Interesting.

Obi-Wan stilled. "Yes."

Qui-Gon lifted his eyes to Kenobi's gravely. "Thank you," he said simply. "Your kindness will not be forgotten." Centering his silver circlet on his head, Qui-Gon checked himself in the mirror. Though he was still a bit thin, he decided he looked adequately recovered. No one would realize how close Valorum's plot had come to success.

"You are welcome," Obi-Wan responded as plainly, and Qui-Gon could see a flicker of pleasure in the pale blue eyes. He realized they were both wearing green today, the bodyguards silks slightly paler than Qui-Gon's own dark ones. He wondered if a feeling of kinship with his bodyguard had prompted his own selection, then set the thought aside. There were more important matters to be considered now than sexual relationships, frivolous or otherwise. Kenobi would be proud of him.

Squaring his shoulders, he led the way toward the throne room, wondering when Kenobi's opinion had become so important to him.

The hall outside the throne room was crowded with servants, each pushing for a better vantage point to see into the grand hall. Kenobi cleared his throat and they parted easily, leaving a path wide enough for the two to cross into the room.

Bad news travels quickly, he thought as he noticed a number of nobles among the audience; dukes and earls from the closest estates.

They all bowed as he entered and he nodded briefly, acknowledging their presence, but not singling any of them out. Most of them were hangers-on, wastrels, and fops; Valorum was one of the few with a head for politics and Qui-Gon was saddened that he was the one responsible for the attacks.

He could already hear muted whispers concerning his liaison with Kenobi working their way through the small crowd. Ignoring them, Qui-Gon pushed regally through and assumed his place on his father's right hand, with Kenobi standing slightly behind him. Qui-gon glanced back and watched those cool eyes scanning the crowd for a moment, then turned his attention to the King, who stood leaning heavily on his gnarled wooden staff.

"Glad am I that you are well, my son." Yoda nodded, his face somber. "Not so gladdened by what must happen now." Obi-Wan had been right, Qui-Gon realized. Yoda did not believe the rumors that were even now circulating throughout the room, or he would have mentioned them. After all, he had dismissed one other bodyguard summarily as soon as Qui-Gon bedded him.

"Are you well this morning, father?"

"More or less." Yoda evaded the question, turning his head forward. He nodded almost imperceptibly and a guardsman thumped the butt of his pike against the floor to quiet the assembly.

"Let Finis Valorum be brought forth." King Yoda's reedy voice filled the hall. "Let him justify himself in the face of the evidence We have to bring against him."

The doors in the rear of the hall opened, and Valorum stepped forth, flanked by twenty of the elite Castle Guard. He did not wear the ring that signified his position as a Duke, though he still wore his fine robes.

Qui-Gon picked his daughter's pale face out in the crowd; she wore ceremonial makeup that signified her noble status and her marriageable age. Palpatine stood close at her elbow, and patted her shoulder with an avuncular air of comfort that Qui-Gon did not trust for a moment.

Valorum too sought Amidala in the crowd, but his expression did not change when he found her. He inclined his head slightly and continued the long journey toward the throne. The sound of his boots on the stone floor echoed through the otherwise-silent chamber.

The king stared at Valorum for a long time; the Duke returning the look without flinching, head held high.

"Know you why you are here?" Yoda finally said, breaking the long silence.

"I have been falsely accused of attempting to assassinate the Crown Prince." Valorum's voice was quiet but clear.

"What proof have you to refute this?" Inquired Qui-Gon, keeping his voice level and calm. King Yoda gestured at a guard, who produced the livery vest Obi-Wan had taken from the body of their attacker.

Valorum examined it, going so far as to take it in his hands and sniff the leather. "This livery appears to be my soldiers'." He let the vest drop and raised his eyes to the King.

"The Crown Prince was attacked on your land by armed men who wore this livery. Do you deny this?" Yoda inquired.

"No." Valorum shook his head once.

"What have you to say in your defense?"

"Only that the livery must have been stolen, or duplicated, or that men of mine were hired for this purpose without my knowledge." Valorum gazed steadily at first the king, then Qui-Gon. "I invited the Prince to my estate with the best of intentions. I hoped to mend the rift that had arisen between us. When he did not arrive, I grew concerned. I led a party in search of him, hoping to aid him if his mount had thrown a shoe or if he had encountered some other minor delay." Valorum hesitated, and a frown marred his handsome face.

"My party found evidence of a battle; there were blood and tracks in a small burial ground in one of my woods, but no wounded or dead men there. The tracks there indicated that a substantial number had been dragged away, but we lost the trail in the grasslands. There were other tracks as well that I believe belonged to Prince Qui-Gon and his guard. We set out to follow them, hoping to lend aid if needed, but an unfortunate incident prevented us following them before nightfall. When we returned the next day, those tracks were gone. There was no sign of the prince or his guard remaining that we could follow."

Valorum lifted his head high. "I anticipated this accusation, and returning to my keep, I prepared to obey royal summons." He cleared his throat, looking dissatisfied and slightly defiant.

"And?" Yoda encouraged him to continue.

"I wonder why the prince... and his guard," Valorum paused to give Obi-Wan a chilly look, "chose to ride alone. I wonder how Prince Qui-Gon stands before us now, unscratched, when my best tracker claims that he must have been beset by no less than twenty men."

The court exploded into a babble of confusion; Yoda rapped his stick again angrily for quiet.

"Are you levying an accusation against the Crown Prince?" Yoda's voice cracked with the final word; he coughed into his hand for a moment and Qui-Gon was forced to steady him.

"I accuse no one. I merely point out that this entire event was too convenient to be as it seems. I believe someone has manufactured it with intent to harm my reputation." Valorum continued after waiting politely for Yoda to recover. "I offer as my only proof nearly fifty years of devoted service to you, my liege. We rode to war together when I was first raised a Duke. You saved my life in my first battle. I have not forgotten it. Nor the many times when I repaid you in kind."

"Nor have I." Yoda lifted weary eyes to him. "For reasons of uncertainty in proving this charge and your long and faithful service, I am exiling you from my kingdom instead of ordering your execution, Finis Valorum." He swayed, grief thickening his voice. "Your lands will not be confiscated and your heirs will retain their position in relation to the Jinn Throne. A steward will be appointed to administer them until your daughter is of age to govern. Be gone from Our lands by mid-week. You may not set foot on the soil of this kingdom again, on pain of death."

The court babbled again, excited; it was a light punishment. This time it took longer for the noise to recede. Yoda no longer had strength to pound his staff. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan slipped behind him, the prince stealthily lending support to his father.

"This audience is at an end," Qui-Gon boomed. "Let the King's justice be brought to pass."

The court dispersed slowly, Amidala joining her father, slipping past the guard to put her arm around his waist and walk with him, weeping. Her tears made tracks in the thick white makeup on her face. Qui-Gon thought that they indicated mingled sorrow and relief; the King might have ordered Valorum's execution on the spot. Neither of them could have known before his judgment whether they would ever speak to the other again.

Yoda's eyes followed them as they left. He too seemed distraught, and Qui-Gon swallowed hard around the knot in his throat. A King's justice was harsh, and not just for those he judged.

"Your Majesty." The familiar oily voice caused Qui-Gon's hackles to rise. Palpatine, lingering after the others. "If I may... as you know, my estates adjoin Lady Amidala's. I would be honored to guide her in administering them as a temporary steward until she is of age." He spread his hands gallantly. His paternal smile gave no hint of the words he had spoken earlier in the month of a marital union between himself and the young lady.

"Very well," Yoda wheezed before Qui-Gon could answer. "Let it be done. Your kindness is admirable." He seemed distracted by pain, his eyes slightly glazed.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Palpatine bowed deeply, his velvet-lined cloak sweeping the floor. Qui-Gon did not miss the note of satisfaction in his voice, but had no time to waste on it. Yoda began to cough again, painful spasms wracking his frail body. Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon's shoulder; footmen had arrived bearing a litter. They eased King Yoda onto it and the footmen carried him out toward his rooms, his personal physician clucking distressfully at its side as they hurried out.

Qui-Gon roused himself from his dismayed reverie when the doors shut, to find Obi-Wan looking after Palpatine with a faint frown marring his handsome features. "Amidala will regret your father's choice of stewards," Obi-Wan predicted soberly when the man had swept out of sight.

"I fear that you are right." Qui-Gon thought of his own loveless marriage, and the pain it had brought both to him and to his wife. "And yet, I have no power to remedy it." He paused. "At least I need no longer fear assassination."

Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he judged. "We shall see."


	31. Chapter 31

With the trial over, Qui-Gon found himself at loose ends. Despite its importance, the judgment of Valorum had taken precious little time, leaving the long shank of the afternoon before them.

His father's valet had informed them that the king had taken to his bed and was under doctor's orders not to be disturbed. Qui-Gon would have liked to have spoken to the old man regarding his own recent brush with mortality, but, as always seemed to be the case, he was not his father's first priority. While he hardly begrudged his father his ill health, Qui-Gon couldn't help the twinge of pain that came with the knowledge that Yoda had made no attempt to personally verify his son's health.

"He is dying," Kenobi said softly from his side, "he has grown weaker every day that I have been here."

Qui-Gon grunted, letting the sound stand as his answer. Could the boy read his mind? Even several weeks ago he would have dismissed the thought as fantasy, but the hard, incontrovertible proof of his own healed body made the claim that miracles and magic were perhaps not the sham he had always believed them to be. He would have to make a visit to this monastery of Kenobi's; find out what manner of secrets these monks were hiding beneath their simple cloaks.

His chamberlain entered the room, disturbing his ruminations with a soft cough. "Would my lord be wishing to partake of the mid-day meal?"

Qui-Gon's stomach rumbled at the mention of food, reminding him that he had not eaten since his meal of broth and bread the day before. "I do believe we shall, Jabba, thank you."

The portly servant bowed before asking, "in the dining hall with your guests, sire?"

"It would serve you well to have them see you fit," Kenobi murmured at his side before he could answer. He sighed irritably. The boy was right, of course, but the last thing he wanted was to spend several hours trading barbs and quips while eating to excess. A simple meal in the kitchens was more his style.

"The dining hall will do fine, Jabba. And please, see to it that a messenger is dispatched at once to summon Shmi and her party back to the castle. We have been too long without her gentle hand among the spices."

He felt Kenobi stiffen slightly next to him, though the lad held his tongue. Once the doors closed on his chamberlain, Qui-Gon rounded on his bodyguard. "Our assassin is caught, what objections can you possibly have against my bringing my son and his mother home?"

"I am not so sure that our assassin is caught," Kenobi replied.

"If you had proof to save Valorum, you should have offered it at the trial!"

Kenobi shrugged, a look of discomfort on his face. "I have no proof. Just...a feeling."

"A feeling? You would have me delay my reunion with Shmi and Anakin based on mere feeling?"

"No, my lord," said Kenobi softly, eyes on the floor at his feet.

His uncharacteristically reticent demeanor gave Qui-Gon pause; the prince surveyed him quietly. Could it truly be that Kenobi was jealous? This time of Shmi? The thought troubled him, and he frowned.

"Your guests are waiting," Kenobi reminded him, and Qui-Gon sighed.

"It would seem the duties of royalty are never done."

"No," Obi-Wan agreed. "Your father bears the crown even now that he is dying."

"I always thought the kingship would be pleasant, and that I could do as I pleased," Qui-Gon abruptly admitted, his voice gruff.

Obi-Wan's eyes held sympathy; where once Qui-Gon would have rankled at it, this time he understood it came from the heart. "The king is owned by the land, and the people. Your father is remiss, not to have seen to it that you were thus taught." His bodyguard pointed the fact out gently.

"I dispensed with the tutors he engaged for me," Qui-Gon admitted, his voice a little bitter, a little ashamed. "I was... a headstrong lad."

"I always loved learning," Kenobi rewarded the prince's honesty with a personal admission of his own. "It made the times that I had to myself all the more precious."

"I was always bored as a lad." Qui-Gon firmed his jaw, uncomfortable with the frank talk between them. "My guests are waiting."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, and fell in behind him as they proceeded to the dining hall.

Mid-day meal was fraught with tension, the nobles gossiping and whispering among themselves of Valorum's treachery. And, Qui-Gon knew, of his own relationship with his bodyguard.

To his surprise, Kenobi appeared to care little about the talk which put him in the prince's bed, not coloring or stiffening in the slightest, even when it became obvious that they were the centre of some rather titillating conversation between three of the younger ladies sitting at the other end of the table. The boy calmly tested his food and drink for poison, apparently paying little heed to ought else. Qui-Gon knew better, knew those changeable eyes saw everything.

The prince didn't linger over his meal, nor did he chose to participate in any but the most desultory of conversations and as quickly as convention would allow, he made his excuses and left, Kenobi, his ever present shadow, in tow.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked as he led them down to the workout room in the cellar.

"My lord?" Kenobi's confusion answered the question for him, but Qui-Gon spelled it out anyway, curious as to why his innocent bodyguard was not embarrassed by the gossip that held him at its centre.

"Everyone is abuzz about the prince and his new bodyguard, how we are now lovers."

"It isn't true," replied Kenobi with a slight shrug.

"But they don't know that."

"But I do. And you do. Gossip is not truth and gossip does not make truth."

Qui-Gon shook his head, suddenly weary of wise platitudes and wishing Kenobi would simply relax and interact with him naturally. Perhaps some exercise would penetrate his reserve. "I would like to take an hour or so to practice the sword this afternoon," Qui-Gon suggested. "You were correct; I am soft. My loss in battle proves that. I would prefer not to repeat the experience."

"We should not practice too long today. I suspect you are still weak from loss of blood. But a short time shouldn't do any harm." Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully, a light of eagerness in his eyes.

Qui-Gon gestured that he go first and fell in behind, surreptitiously watching the sway of his bodyguard's slender hips. He looked well in the silks, and was almost growing to look natural and comfortable in them, as though he had always lived at court. While those spare, masculine hips were admittedly a prominent enticement, he was beginning to realize that this young man meant more to him than a willing bed-mate. In spite of his occasional annoyance with Kenobi's pronouncements, he knew that he would like to have him at his side as a counselor as well as a courtesan and defender.

They arrived in the practice room shortly and stripped to their breeches. This time Obi-Wan lifted a wooden practice blade and invited Qui-Gon to attack; the prince did, and they sparred together lightly, running through various forms at a fairly low intensity, just enough to build up a bit of sweat.

The light pace of the workout gave him a chance to admire Kenobi; he was beautiful with his narrow chest and ribs, his pink nipples and sharp, precisely curved collarbones. Qui-Gon felt fondness mingle with lust in his belly, and when Obi-Wan smiled, he realized his lips had curved in an expression of happiness. Their blades crossed once, then again, and Obi-Wan danced back, looking joyful. "You are doing well; there is no evidence of stiffness or weakness lingering from the injury."

"That is your doing," Qui-Gon responded earnestly, grounding the point of his sword and leaning on it. "I had no part of it."

"Are you tired?"

"A bit," Qui-Gon admitted. "Nothing that a few nights' sleep and good meals won't cure, I think."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I think in upcoming weeks we should find a staffmaster, and have you practice against him."

Again Qui-Gon nodded. "That is a fine idea."

They dove back into battle then, Obi-Wan flashing his blade up swiftly and Qui-Gon countering it, and went 'round the room again before Obi-Wan drew back. "I think that is enough for today," he judged, and Qui-Gon agreed, just starting to feel winded.

They mopped sweat away with clean linen towels and dressed again. Though it was a pity to have Kenobi's fine slender chest hidden, Qui-Gon thought he felt the boy's eyes on him while they cooled down, and he was pleased. Perhaps the endless sniping and disagreement were behind them at last.

Not wishing to lose what ground they had gained, he suggested a game of chess followed by evening meal in the kitchen; there would be little chance of them being disturbed by any of the visiting nobles in those humble quarters. Kenobi agreed readily and they retired to the bright kitchen, sitting at the end of the table nearest the blazing fire.

During their meal, Qui-Gon noted that, like the evening before, Kenobi eschewed a plate of his own, nibbling instead from Qui-Gon's leavings.

They retired shortly after eating, Qui-Gon admitting he was more tired than usual. He kept to himself the hope that tonight Obi-Wan would come to his bed as more than just his bodyguard.

As they made their way through the droughty halls, Qui-Gon ran through several scenarios, searching for the best plan with which to seduce his erstwhile bodyguard. Arriving at his suite, he had to admit that seduction was probably not the best plan. Kenobi seemed to respond best to forthrightness and honesty.

He waited until the door to his sleeping chamber closed behind him, the waiting Sira summarily dismissed, by himself this time. "It's been a good day," he began.

"Not for Valorum."

"I meant, in fact, for you and I, we seem to have reached an understanding today and passed the afternoon in pleasant companionship."

Kenobi inclined his head. "I must admit that once one digs beneath the surface you are more than the arrogant dandy you appear to be."

Not quite the glowing assessment Qui-Gon could have hoped for, but he pressed on nonetheless, thinking the timing could not have been more perfect, as both men were stripped down to their breeches once more.

"You are a fine companion, Obi-Wan, and I have grown to appreciate you more and more the longer we are bound together." Qui-Gon removed his final covering and stood proudly before the boy, letting him get an eyeful of what was being offered. "It would please me a great deal if you would share my bed tonight, and my body as well."

Kenobi's hands froze at his waistband and he colored, but in the half-light provided by the candle, Qui-Gon couldn't tell if it was from desire, embarrassment or anger. His mouth opened once and then again and finally the boy took a deep breath; Qui-Gon could see that he was choosing his words with care.

"My prince flatters me a great deal," Obi-Wan began softly.

"But," prompted Qui-Gon shortly, disappointed anger stiffening his back.

"I cannot accept your offer."

"Cannot or will not?" But Kenobi had already turned away from him and was organizing his simple pallet on the floor next to the bed. "What are you doing?" demanded Qui-Gon. He could no longer tell the difference between shame, rejection, and anger.

"Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if I slept here tonight."

The boy would reject his offer and then his hospitality? Qui-Gon was nearly speechless with fury at the lack of trust that Kenobi's actions implied. "I hope you don't expect me to abstain," he bit out.

"My lord does as he pleases," responded Kenobi quietly as he slid beneath his sheets and turned away from the prince's bed.

Qui-Gon climbed angrily into his bed and took his shaft in hand, stroking roughly and spending his fury on himself.


	32. Chapter 32

Obi-Wan was wakened the next morning by Qui-Gon's angry banging as the prince flung the wardrobe open and prepared to dress. Clearly the night's sleep had done little to cool his quick temper. Perhaps it was not surprising. They truly had shared a pleasant day together, and Qui-Gon had changed his approach. Perhaps he had even been playing by what he perceived as Obi-Wan's own rules: an honest, direct approach.

In either case, the Crown Prince of the Jinn Throne had never been denied; his whims had always been handed to him immediately, served up on fine silver platters. That explained his childish behavior; he had never learned to deal with being denied.

He would have to. Any ruler who could not learn that bitter lesson would never last long before his enemies toppled him, either from within or from without.

He rapidly pulled on his own clothing and was ready to follow when Qui-Gon left the room without a word. The prince stalked through the halls, his boots ringing angrily on the stone. Obi-Wan followed, a pace or two behind, prudence keeping his mouth shut. He was happy to realize that Qui-Gon was leading them to the kitchens; sitting at the prince's side in the large dining hall when he was in this mood would have been uncomfortable at the very least.

The prince served himself a large bowl of gruel from the pot over the fire, impatiently waving away the servants. He threw the bowl on the long wooden table, in front of Obi- Wan.

"Taking it out on the furniture will accomplish nothing more than scarring the wood," Obi-Wan told him mildly. Qui-Gon didn't answer, and Obi-Wan had to hide his smile at the look on the prince's face. He looked like the thwarted child Obi- Wan had compared him to earlier, with his arms folded across his chest and his lower lip protruding in a slight pout.

Sitting across from his prince, Obi-Wan took his spoon and tasted the porridge. It was good, though not as good as what Shmi made; there was no trace of foul play. He nodded and pushed the bowl back across the table, then decided he'd better get his own meal today. Qui-Gon didn't look like he was willing to share, even though he had enough for two, as usual.

He scooped out a much smaller bowl for himself and settled down to eat. Qui-Gon stared into his breakfast with a thunderous scowl marring his handsome features, his brow furrowed with annoyance. The silence weighed on Obi-Wan after a time, broken only by the scraping of their spoons and the bustle of the kitchen around them. Finally Obi-Wan leaned forward and spoke, trying to make his tone gentle and un-patronizing. "I'm sorry, but being angry about this won't change things. My decision is final."

Qui-Gon stared at him for a long moment, then threw down his spoon, splattering oatmeal on the kitchen table. He rose in a huff, stalking out.

Obi-Wan quickly gulped the remainder of his own gruel and pressed his bowl into the hands of a nearby maid. He started after Qui-Gon, the traffic in the kitchen slowing him down as the servers began to progress into the main dining hall. When he emerged, the Crown Prince was nowhere to be found.

Centering himself Obi-Wan reached out with his hearing until he could pick up low murmurings from the prince. He was no doubt readying Sebulba for a quick getaway and Obi-Wan rapidly made his way to the stables, intent on making sure the prince didn't leave alone. He could hear the grunts and moans of animals as he approached and as he scanned the stables as he rounded the corner only to be brought up short by the sight that greeted him.

Qui-Gon was there, but the prince was not readying Sebulba for a ride. Instead he had one of the stable hands shoved up against the far wall. The boy's arms were held above his head, one of the prince's hands wrapped around his wrists and his breeches were pulled down to his thighs. The boy's pale skin and shockingly white hair stood out, almost glowing, against the deep brown of the stable wall. Obi-Wan had noticed him before; his hair was most unusual, and he had an attractive, if sulky, face with a narrow chin.

Right now his mouth was open, the most astonishing moans coming out of it. Qui-Gon's hand was busy between them; Obi-Wan could not see clearly what it was doing but the overall meaning was crystal clear and he halted abruptly, feeling blood roar into his face hotly.

Qui-Gon lifted his head then, regarding Obi-Wan with feral triumph in his eyes, and drew back. Obi-Wan could see his erection, gleaming and urgent, and as though the world were slowing to a still, he watched Qui-Gon thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in his male lover. Heard the boy cry out wildly. Saw Qui-Gon's thick fingers knot in the long white hair, pulling the boy's head back.

The prince's mouth closed over the boy's greedily, swallowing the cries he was making, and one of his hands grasped the solid erection that jutted from the boy's groin. Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face as his penis hardened at the sight. He wanted to run way, or at least to turn his back to the spectacle, but he found he couldn't move and he stood there, rooted to the spot. He was aware that the prince was still watching him, eyes never wavering from Obi-Wan despite his activities.

The prince released the boy's mouth, allowing the soft moans and cries of passion to fill the air once again, while he sunk his teeth into a pale, creamy shoulder. Still he watched Obi-Wan, pinning him in place with dark blue eyes. Obi-Wan's mouth had gone dry and his breath struggled its way in and out of his chest. He felt shame, jealousy, rage and horror at all three of them: Qui-Gon and the boy for coupling like animals, with no regard for privacy and himself for not being able to turn away, for taking carnal pleasure in what he was witnessing.

The boy stiffened suddenly, a scream crossing his lips as milky fluid sprayed against the wall from his shaft. Obi- Wan broke free of the vice that held him in place and turned, fleeing around the corner, the sound of Qui-Gon's grunts and their bodies slapping together as the prince drove toward his own completion following him. He sank against the stable door, breath gasping harshly in his throat as he fought to bring his body and emotions under control.

This was more than he could endure; Qui-Gon had finally succeeded in driving him from his side. He was an unfit guardian for this man, and he could not bear any more.

King Yoda should feel great shame at having let his only son grow up like a barbarian, without regard for morals or dignity!

Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders slowly, ignoring the aching need between his legs. It would pass, if he gave it no attention. His desperate resolve was now complete. Though it might delay his knighthood by years, he must be free of this assignment. Why should he care for the fate of someone who rutted as casually as dogs in the dust?

He returned around the corner in time to see Qui-Gon pull his withering shaft from the boy. The tableau was largely unchanged; the lad was as comely as ever, his white hips as round. Qui-Gon's bearing as powerful, his body as impressive. But Obi-Wan felt dead inside, and none of it touched him.

"If you are finished, I would ask you to return with me to the library for a moment," he stated woodenly, keenly aware that it was the first request he had made of the prince on his own behalf.

Qui-Gon wiped himself with a cloth from his pocket and dropped it into the stable litter before tucking himself into his breeches. The lad dressed also, and Qui-Gon gave him a last, possessive look. "Next time wear a braid in your hair, like his," he commanded.

"If he does as you command, I will shave his head with my dagger," Obi-Wan heard himself say as though from a great distance. "This is a symbol of my order, a mark of honor, purity, and devotion, and your whore will not wear it."

The lad gave Obi-Wan a look that mingled hatred and fear, sidling away against the wall, his ragged work clothes still in disarray. Qui-Gon glared into Obi-Wan's eyes, and Obi- Wan returned the stare, unflinching.

"Bruck, you will do as I say. He has no authority to command you," Qui-Gon pronounced, his voice clear and brittle.

"Yes, Your Majesty." The stable hand scuttled away.

Obi-Wan stood stiffly, waiting for Qui-Gon to precede him back to the main building of the castle. The prince brushed by him and Obi-Wan fell into place a half step behind.

"You do not command my servants," Qui-Gon told him coldly as they made their way to the library. "You are nothing more than a servant yourself, one whom I have let get away with far to much in the past. You will find me less amiable from now on."

"I am not your servant," Obi-Wan corrected him, steel in his voice. "I am here as a favor to your father to protect you from harm." Not

that he would continue in the capacity of bodyguard to the Crown Prince for much longer; they were obviously not suited to each other and both their moods were likely to improve once Pater Mundi sent in a replacement. The prince could then carry on as he was wont to do, while Obi-Wan could return to the monastery and mortify his flesh, beg forgiveness for his sins, and return to the task of achieving his knighthood.

They arrived at the library, and Obi-Wan bowed formally to the prince. "If you would do me the honor of sending a servant for ink and a quill?" Qui-Gon snapped his fingers and the items arrived. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Obi-Wan sat down to write. Aware of the prince craning his neck to see, he began composing in the complicated calligraphy his brothers practiced at the monastery, knowing that Qui-Gon could not read it.

"What are you writing, and to whom?" The Prince demanded, his voice hostile.

"I am writing a report of recent events to the head councilor of the order," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "The failure of the assassination attempts and the exile of Valorum will be of interest to him. Your father authorized me to keep the order informed of my progress when I arrived, at Pater Mundi's request."

Qui-Gon looked a little surprised, perhaps even a little relieved. "Very well, then. Carry on." He slumped next to a thick tome lying open on the wide writing table and began to read, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish. "Do not take the morning," he commanded coolly. "There is much I wish to accomplish today."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Obi-Wan replied politely, and resumed writing.


	33. Chapter 33

Revered Pater Mundi,

My stay at the Court of the Jinn Throne has been an eventful one. Almost as soon as I arrived, there was an attempt on the Crown Prince's life. His food was poisoned. Later someone cut his girth strap, and the suspect was found dead. I believe he was pushed from one of the high towers.

A more serious and almost successful attempt on the Prince's life was made several days ago. Duke Valorum invited the prince to visit his estates and during the journey his men set upon the prince and myself in an ambush. We managed to fight off our opponents, although the prince was grievously injured during that battle. I had not thought my healing powers sufficient to the task, but perhaps desperation lent me strength, for I was able to successfully heal the prince over several days.

I regret to admit that the ambush occurred due not only to the prince's arrogance but to my own neglect in insisting that we ride accompanied by guards on our way to Valorum's keep. My decision was partly due to complacency and partly due to inexperience, but the fact remains that I allowed the prince to endanger himself, and very nearly permitted disaster.

We have since returned to the court, and Valorum has been found guilty of treason and banished, his past service to the throne winning him a light sentence. The Duke protested his innocence to the end and I am hard pressed to disbelieve him. I have a terrible feeling that we have all been played like marionettes, dancing on the strings of a puppeteer.

The prince is not inclined to cope with such events in a reasonable or responsible manner; he resembles a spoiled brat of a sixth his age at best. He would have benefited from being raised in the early discipline in our order, but I fear that he has had none throughout his more than forty years of life. It has told poorly on him.

When I left you asked me to provide you with an estimate of his fitness to rule. I must say that the good qualities of the Jinn line are in him, but that they are displayed rarely at best. He is aware of the theories of good rulership, but would rather play at constant whoring than accept an iota of responsibility. I feel that someone older than I, with the full authority and training of a Knight or Master, would be required to reach him and teach him what he must learn before he will be a fitting ruler.

Worse, King Yoda appears to be failing fast. He has lost strength every day that I have seen him, and I do not believe he will endure another winter in this climate. He has developed a cough and has become confused at times, even making decisions amiss when his illness grips him. The need for someone who can take the prince in hand before his father passes is therefore all the more pressing.

I have saved my gravest news to last. I am ashamed to admit it to you, but must do so in order to begin the process of redemption. Having led a sheltered life since childhood among the purity of my brothers, I find that I am unprepared for the debauchery and moral decay of courtly life. With shame, I admit that I have been tempted by the prince's sexual advances, and have been helpless to prevent him from rousing my lust. I fear that I cannot resist my base desires much longer, and I would allow him to use me, thus losing the remainder of his respect and permanently forfeiting my chances at knighthood.

I have no wish to endure this final shame and failure, and not for personal reasons alone. The continued strength of the Jinn are all that lie between this countryside. I pray that my replacement will arrive swiftly.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan of the Order


	34. Chapter 34

The prince responded with cool grace to Obi-Wan's stiffly formal request for a messenger to be dispatched with his letter, and the tone of that interaction forecast their association for the next several days.

Obi-Wan alternated between blank, empty indifference and sharp misery, keeping both conditions concealed behind a front of wooden efficiency. He ran from himself by renewing attention to his duties, only allowing the prince out of his sight for the time it took to make good his promise regarding Bruck's hair. He left the shorn locks on the prince's pillow, a silent testimony to the value of his word.

Qui-Gon avenged himself by summoning Bruck to his bed that night, and that night thereafter, their noisy couplings keeping Obi-Wan from rest. Each night he lay in silent misery, staring blankly at the ceiling as lust washed over him, hardening his penis painfully, making his breath catch in his throat and his heart thunder in his ears.

It might as well have been himself in that bed, receiving Qui-Gon's lust, for all the purity he maintained... his mind eluded control, picturing every move, imagining the caresses that produced every moan. His body tingled with frustrated hunger and his heart hardened with resentment and self-loathing.

Now that he and Sira shared common ground, she tried to cultivate him, offering to help him dress in the morning, contriving excuses to brush his arm with her soft breasts. Obi-Wan realized he wanted her as well, though his pride rankled at the notion of taking Qui-Gon's leavings. Sira could plainly sense his frustrated desire and after a few days of trying to pique him to action, she began to taunt him with her body, bending so that her breasts swayed loosely in her bodice, shadowed nipples visible to him. Or by getting her gown wet to the waist while bathing Bruck and the prince, her curves lasciviously highlighted by the thin wet fabric.

Obi-Wan suffered mutely, no longer offering advice or counsel to the prince as they wandered through the long days. If Sira was an annoyance, Qui-Gon was a razor-burr under his saddle, walking about his chambers unclothed, spending more time carousing with Bruck than Obi-Wan would have thought a man could find possible.

Qui-Gon barely paused to take his meals, and there was no talk of sword practice. Only the endless slap of flesh on flesh and chuckling murmurs, soft cries, or open laughter. Bruck had begun to taunt him as well, following him with heavy-lidded eyes and, once going so far as to suggest that Obi-Wan join the two of them in the prince's bed.

Obi-Wan had chosen not to answer, treating the boy to the same tight-lipped silence he favored the prince with. If he had not made a vow to vouchsafe the price's safety, he would not have waited for a replacement before returning to the monastery. Each moment brought him closer to breaking his vow of chastity and he knew that were he to come, all would be lost.

His body betrayed him at every turn, urged to it by the prince and his servants. One night Qui-Gon had both Sira and Bruck in his bed and Obi-Wan had watched in fascinated horror as the three of them writhed madly together, Bruck riding Sira and Qui-Gon riding him, the prince's thrusts setting the rhythm of their coupling.

Late that night, Obi-Wan curled up into a ball and wept, his body aching from its constant denial and lack of sleep, his heart confused and broken. He prayed that Pater Mundi had taken his missive seriously and even now was dispatching another brother to replace him before it was too late.


	35. Chapter 35

Qui-Gon lay in his tangled bed and watched the rays of dawn creep along the wall, feeling rather like an elderly dog that has just found itself at the bottom of an enthusiastic, squirming puppy-pile. Young slender limbs lay tangled around him, too many to sort out which belonged to whom. He was sticky, sore, and aching. His eyes felt grainy and his head ached from too little rest, and he thought he might have worn all the skin off his penis, judging by how raw it felt.

And what had he gained from all of it? Nothing. Obi-Wan was increasingly remote, quick and efficient, but the fire that had moved him since the first day was no longer there, not in banked anger or in sharp wit. He was silent and withdrawn, and no amount of torture or taunting stirred him any longer.

Moreover, no amount of sex play satisfied Qui-Gon any longer, either. Not when every kiss was given dreaming of Obi-Wan's narrow, expressive lips. Not when every thrust was into the wrong body. Not when every inch of sweet skin against him had the wrong perfume. If he could have his bodyguard just once, and quench this insatiable longing... then he could get back to normal, move past this senseless obsession.

He untangled himself and rose, padding to the nearest window and opening it, letting in a wash of cool, refreshing air to begin purging his chambers of the reek of too much sex. Obi-Wan did not stir, sleeping in his pallet on the floor-- which was now pressed up against the far wall, as distant from the bed as he could get and remain in the room.

Faithful, upholding his vow. No matter how it might pain him.

Funny, how he had sought that pain; he had struck out at the boy the surest way he knew how and instead of gratification had felt shame at any signs of pain Obi-Wan let escape. Not that the monk had let much show, but occasionally a flash of pain would cross his eyes and Qui-Gon could read it in the stiff back that presented itself during his own energetic activities in the royal bed.

The boy had saved his life, had indeed brought him back from the dead, for surely no one else could have saved him after such a wound as he suffered at the hands of Valorum's henchmen. And this was how he repaid that kindness.

He was like a boy who kicked puppies or pulled the wings off flies, just because he could. He could picture the shame in Shmi's eyes when she learned of his behavior, see how she would hide Anakin in her skirts in order to keep his father's behavior from him.

Qui-Gon stiffened as he thought of the mother of his child; surely at least a week had passed since he'd sent a messenger telling her to come home. That was more than enough time for her to have walked the distance, let alone traveled it on horseback.

"Sira!" He turned to the bed and roused the girl, shaking a shoulder and not caring to which whelp it belonged.

Her head lifted from the pillow and heavy lidded eyes blinked at him. "My lord?"

"Was that messenger dispatched to fetch Shmi?"

"I'm not sure, my lord."

"Then you'd better find out. Now!" She scrambled out of the bed, tripping on the bedcovers and searching frantically for her night-shift. She fled down the servant's entrance, still pulling the simple gown over her head.

"What's wrong?" Kenobi's voice was low, emotionless, the boy already making his way to Qui-Gon's side.

"I am a tin-plated fool who deserves to be laid over a nurse's knee and beaten with the flat of a sword." Qui-Gon spat the words bitterly.

Obi-Wan did not agree or disagree, folding his arms and waiting for an explanation.

"While I am wasting my days and night in the arms of sluts, Shmi and Anakin are missing, and I do not even notice!" He struck his leg with the flat of his palm, poor punishment compared to his guilt. "Why did you not mention them, Kenobi?"

"I had no knowledge of how long it might take a messenger to reach them, or for them to return," the quiet reply came back to him, devoid of emotion. Qui-Gon felt himself deflate, shame bowing his proud shoulders. The words were true.

"Bruck." He spun, unconscious of his nudity, stalking toward the bed. "Are you still lying there like a rotten log? Haul your lazy carcass down to the stables. Saddle two horses and load them with provisions, and if you spread word of it to anyone, I'll do to your jewels what Kenobi did to your hair. Move!"

The boy nearly collided with Sira as he left. She had returned, out of breath and still dressed in only her night- shift. Her eyes were wide and the curtsey she made was hurried. "Oh my lord, the messenger was sent seven days ago and just now his horse has arrived back without him, covered in blood!"

Qui-Gon staggered slightly at the words. Kenobi's hand appeared on his arm, the gesture oddly soothing, and Qui-Gon felt his panic recede. "We have no way of knowing where upon his journey your messenger lost his life. It will not help Shmi if we assume the worst."

He nodded at the boy's words and turned back to Sira. "Tell Bruck to saddle a dozen of the guard's horses and wake Lieutenant Olie. We will not walk into another ambush undefended." He could feel Kenobi give a slight nod at his side and felt inexplicably pleased at the unspoken approval.

"We leave in 10 minutes."

The girl nodded and took off at a run.


	36. Chapter 36

It actually took them closer to an hour to begin their journey, but when they did, they were well-prepared and made good time, trotting briskly under a bright sun. A jingle of harness accompanied their steady progress, making the party sound almost gay, but in spite of the pleasant sound, every face was grim.

Obi-Wan and the prince rode amidst the group of soldiers, and Obi-Wan did not even have to insist on the precaution. Prince Qui-Gon fastened a hawklike gaze on the horizon, his face stern and set with pain, an effect that somehow managed not to be spoiled by the fresh love-bites at his throat.

Obi-Wan felt better now that they were out of the castle, the fresh air and sunlight raising his spirits out of the deep funk he'd fallen into during the days of torment in the castle. It was a valuable lesson in the stupidity of having let his emotions run away with him; that was all.

Only the state of the messenger's horse and the absence of the messenger himself kept Obi-Wan from being overjoyed by traveling and seeing new things. He knew the prince must be cursing the decision to send Shmi and Anakin away from the protection of the castle and he wondered if Qui-Gon would blame himself or Obi-Wan for that decision. He had a feeling, given the current state of affairs between them, that the prince would happily lay that mistake at his feet; one more reason to abhor his bodyguard.

Obi-Wan swallowed his sigh and gave himself a mental shake; he had fallen into the habit of melodrama ever since the prince had been attacked and it had to stop. He was a padawan learner, on the verge of becoming a Knight of the Order, not some simpering heroine in a long drawn out love ballad. His duty was to protect the prince and it was about time he performed that duty without distraction.

His mood improved once more, he scanned the woods around them, refusing to fall into another ambush; he would not fail Qui-Gon again.

The countryside remained stubbornly silent around them, and his vigilance went unrewarded as the long day waxed, stretched, and waned, the evening shadows lengthening on the ground. They passed the estate boundary marker, which the guards noted with a low mutter but without slowing their pace. It was a relatively small estate compared to Valorum's, and before the sun had sunk all the way behind the horizon, the manor house was in view.

They crossed a final ridge and cantered down into the valley that formed the grounds. It was growing dark, but Obi-Wan's sharp eyes picked out ominous signs-- flowerbeds and bushes had been broken by hooves. A great many of them, it seemed. A curl of smoke rose from the house, but not from one of its chimneys. Obi-Wan saw the prince notice it too, and he spurred his horse, recklessly bullying through to the front of the procession, then starting to gallop forward.

"After him," Obi-Wan snapped curtly, and they thundered in his wake, abandoning the winding path to ride across the hoof-pocked lawns. Obi-Wan reached the gate just ahead of the prince and rounded his mare, bringing Sebulba to a halt. The prince glared at him, but Obi-Wan held his gaze fast, refusing to be moved.

Seconds later the guards caught up with them, once more circling the pair and they moved forward as a unit. The horses began to balk as they neared the house, Sebulba especially, pawing the ground and tossing his head, eyes rolling back as Qui-Gon urged him forward.

"Halt." Obi-Wan called softly and to a man, the soldiers stopped. Closing his eyes he reached out with his sense of smell, ignoring what belonged and gasping as what was left flooded his nose. Blood. "Leave the horses," he ordered as he slid off the back of his own mare. Given her head she trotted quickly back to gate, coming to a stop just within its boundary. The other horsemen followed suit, only the prince remained seated, his expression hard and closed, but Obi-Wan met his eyes calmly, one hand on Sebulba's briddle, keeping Qui-Gon from moving forward.

With an impatient noise, the prince dismounted and Obi-Wan let the horse go.

The evening boasted an unnatural silence, the fading light throwing long shadows across the ground. To a man, they unsheathed their weapons, approaching the manor with caution. The prince stiffened and then stopped as they neared, his eyes glued to the door. Obi-Wan pushed his way to the front of the formation; the door was slightly ajar and a symbol had been deeply branded into it.

A broken circle.

"What does it mean?" he asked, moving back to the prince's side, for surely Qui-Gon had recognized it.

"It is the sign of an old enemy," Qui-Gon replied. Obi-Wan waited silently for him to continue. "My father has long had an alliance with Telos, the Kingdom north east of us." Obi-Wan nodded impatiently; he hardly needed a lesson in politics nor history.

"King Crion's son Xanatos," Qui-Gon paused to spit on the ground, "and I have clashed in the past. Every now and then he crosses the border and commits some crime in the hopes of annoying me. This isn't the first time he's taken lives, I just pray--" the prince bit off the words, face tight.

Obi-Wan laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling inadequate to offer comfort, yet knowing he could not do more in the company of the guards even if he trusted himself to. "We won't be able to go on tonight. We've lost the light and can't track them. Let the men search the manor by torchlight, and we'll follow any tracks at dawn."

After hastily dismounting from their horses, the soldiers slipped in through the unbarred doors, entering in groups of two. Soon torchlight could be seen flickering behind darkened windows, but there was no other sign of life. Together Obi-Wan, the prince, and a small honor guard led the tired horses around the house to the stables... and discovered the source of the smoke. The wooden building and its adjoining hay barn had been burned to the ground, and all the horses were missing.

The prince's jaw locked; without a word he turned and led them back around the easternmost wing of the manor back to the front lawn. "The lawn is flat and the horses can graze at their tethers," Qui-Gon bit out, each word as cold as if it had been carved in marble. "We will camp."

Obi-Wan nodded, and helped fasten the horses out on metal picket pins, spaced widely enough that the stallions would not fight. The honor guard began laying out the tents for bivouack.

"Start no fires," Qui-Gon snapped curtly. "We don't want to provide targets for archers. There will plenty of time for hot rations later."

The men settled in with hard tack without any of the good-natured grumbling that one would normally expect from such a crew. The somber situation obviously weighed heavily on them all. The manor floors had been covered with blood, though no bodies had been found and aside from Shmi and Anakin, who all here would have known, there were bound to be comrades of these men among the dead. It was a grim crew that settled in to sleep as best they could, three men a shift guarding the small camp.

Obi-Wan lay, relaxed, but ready, beside the prince. He could feel the stiffness of Qui-Gon's body and he watched the prince surreptitiously from under half closed lashes.

Qui-Gon's eyes gazed, unblinking, at the stars; who knew what was going through his mind?

Obi-Wan ached to offer comfort, but the words that rose to his lips tasted like bitter ash and he suspected they would fall on deaf ears; Qui-Gon did not want his comfort. There was little more that he could do than to offer prayers to vouchsafe Shmi and the prince's son, and he did so, adding one or two for the prince.

Obi-Wan finally let his eyes close and forced his body into a light sleep; he would be no good to the prince in the morning if he wasn't rested.


	37. Chapter 37

The damage looked even worse in the strong light of a clear dawn. Smoke still rose in wisps from the ruined stables, and the house looked empty, windows like hollow eye-sockets.

Qui-Gon wrapped himself in his cloak, foregoing breakfast among the men to approach the house, looking for any indication that Shmi and Anakin might have survived. He found none, no matter how often he paced through the echoing halls or how carefully he examined the master bedroom.

All that remained of Shmi was her silver brush and the gray-touched brunette hair caught in its teeth. He glanced back at the guard Obi-Wan had sent with him, resenting the man's stolid presence at his back. He would have preferred to be alone with his pain.

Holding the brush, he ran his hand over the soft bristles. The sensation triggered memories: Shmi sitting in front of him as he brushed through the long hair, their arguments regarding the suitability of her wearing it down; pain and laughter mingling as she spanked him with it, the sharp cold slap of the silver side and the soft scrape of the bristle side. Moments like that one became rarer and rarer after Anakin had been born and she'd been promoted to Mistress of the Kitchen.

Their duties and responsibilities had kept them apart more often than not, though he had to admit that if he had been in love with her instead of merely loving her, he would have let nothing keep them apart for any length of time. Still, she had been his most constant companion and they shared a deep and abiding love that spoke of friendship and caring and he had sent her away. To her death by the looks of it.

He refused to focus on Anakin, refused to even consider the possibilities; Shmi would have moved all of heaven to keep her son from harm and he had to believe that she had succeeded, even had it meant her own death.

A commotion from outside broke his reverie and one of the guards came barreling into the room. "My lord, the monk has found tracks leading away from the house!"

"Of course he has. You think Xanatos flew here?" he snapped.

"The tracks were clearly made by horses emerging from your stable, my lord. Two of them, both heavily weighed down."

Qui-Gon's heart leapt and started a rapid tattoo as he led the way out of the cottage. Two horses, both weighed down they must have been carrying at least two people apiece and Qui-Gon could not imagine any of the men Panaka had hand- picked to guard Shmi leaving her or Anakin behind; if they had left, the boy and his mother had been among them.

Qui-Gon cursed aloud; if he hadn't been so distraught by the house the previous evening they might have found the tracks and followed them without delay. Heavily loaded horses would have no chance of escaping from Xanatos's fleet cavalry.

"We ride after them!" he roared, bursting out of the house, discovering that Obi-Wan had anticipated his order. Camp was already nearly broken and loaded; his team of elite guards were waiting on horseback. Qui-Gon didn't pause to sulk, vaulting onto his horse with impatience and kicking it into a gallop. Obi-Wan led, his smaller mount fleet. He pointed out the tracks to Qui-Gon and they thundered along beside them taking care when possible not to trample them underfoot in case they had to retrace their steps.

After several miles, Obi-Wan reined his mount close to Sebulba's shoulder. "I believe I know where they are bound, Your Highness." He nodded toward the mountains. "The tracks do not falter, and there is little sign that they were seriously pursued. Perhaps they escaped cleanly."

Qui-Gon nodded and accepted Obi-Wan's guidance as they headed out of the woods. The soft scree of the hillside they climbed had held prints, but when they topped out, frozen ground showed no signs of passage. "You're sure?"

"It is the only possible refuge in this direction, and Panaka knew of it." Obi-Wan flickered his eyes toward Qui- Gon. "I advised him to seek help there at need."

Qui-Gon felt the anger that he'd been pushing away surge to the forefront. Again this man, this monk, had put his nose in where it didn't belong. That having a destination in mind might have saved Shmi and Anakin was beside the point, if Kenobi had advice to offer Panaka in his protection of Shmi and Anakin, he should have offered it through Qui-Gon himself.

"And where exactly did you suggest to my captain of the guard he take my son and his mother?"

Obi-Wan pointed north, into the mountains and Qui-Gon followed the line of his arm. Squinting, he saw the chimney smoke first. Following it down, he could barely make out the outline of a group of buildings, nestled in the side of the mountain. "My home."


	38. Chapter 38

Obi-Wan spurred his horse, at once both eager and reluctant to be home. This vista was as familiar to him as his own skin; already he could nearly smell the plain unleavened bread baking in the ovens. He glanced at the prince, who remained dumbfounded in the face of Obi-Wan's revelation.

They rarely allowed men to come this close to their solitary abode; already Obi-Wan had signaled the emergency to two layers of sentries, though he suspected no one had noticed. Even the prince had been too preoccupied by his thoughts to notice the additional tracks that joined to those of the horses they pursued. It was perhaps a forgivable error under the circumstances, but yet again it underlined the prince's unreadiness to lead soldiers into serious jeopardy.

His emotions defeat him. Obi-Wan reflected soberly. He must learn to control them and not to let them control him.

It was good advice, and not just for the prince; he'd been letting his own emotions get the better of himself lately. His control over his body was practically non-existent, the fact that he had not completely broken his vow of chastity was quite a miracle.

He looked up at the monastery; it was still quite far away, but memory readily supplied the details his eyes could not yet make out. The mountain wind cooled his cheeks of the flush of shame that went through him as he thought of confessing to Pater Mundi. And even worse, at failing in his task, at disappointing not only the order itself and their leader, but especially Brother Lucas, his mentor and teacher as well as himself.

A little voice insisted that he could do this task, that he should make his confession, do his penance and return to the Jinn Castle in order to fulfill his duty. However, he knew that the sweet mountain air and the nearness of the familiar surroundings were fortifying him, giving him false courage; he would be alone again if he returned home with the prince.

Not that he had any choice in the matter anymore. He had already made the large part of his confession and imagined that Pater Mundi would not allow him to return even if he wanted to. That was if...he was allowed to stay. He felt a surge of panic go through him at that and it took several minutes for him to calm himself.

He was banking on the order's forgiving nature, hoping that they would give him a second chance, even if it meant that he would be well into old age before being given another chance at knighthood. It was the only home he knew; he had felt the calling young-- a mere infant of two when he'd left his parents' home and started out toward the mountain. His father had found him at the end of the day, feet blistered and sore, more than four miles from their home. He had screamed and kicked, furious to be brought back. In the end his father had saddled their old mare and Obi-Wan sat in front of him, pointing out the way until they reached the monastery.

Most of the story he had picked up from the monks, but he could still remember the feeling of sitting in the saddle, his father's chest warm and safe against his own back, joy filling him with every step the horse took toward his new home.

"How long will it take us to get there?" The prince's voice broke him from his reverie and Obi-Wan realised the man was galloping next to him now, Sebulba easily keeping up with Obi-Wan's smaller mare.

"We'll be there in time to share evening meal with the brothers."

"And do you think we will find Shmi and Anakin there among your brothers?" The prince's voice was quiet, neutral, but Obi-Wan could read the tension in his posture, knew that Qui-Gon was suffering an agony of hope and despair.

"I am almost certain of it," he answered, coming as close to telling Qui-Gon what he'd made of the tracks as he could. Most outsiders believed, as Qui-Gon had, that the Jedi Order were a group of book worms who spent their days studying and gardening. While those activities certainly counted among those they performed, they were by no means the width and breadth of their knowledge or abilities.

Obi-Wan was an excellent swordsman, but there were several in the order who could still, on occasion, beat him. And while in that area he excelled, he was only a passable tracker compared to most of his brethren. Likewise there were those among their number who were master strategists, those whose skill at information gathering was surpassed by no one; all in all they were, as a collective, an elite and highly trained force.

They had to be, for they preserved ten thousand years of history within their walls; kings, dynasties and borders had come and gone in that time, the Jedi alone had survived. Not even Yoda knew that and he knew far more than most outsiders.

Reassured by his words, Qui-Gon was giving him a speculative look. "I've wanted to come out here for awhile now," he told Obi-Wan. "See why you're such a stuffed shirt."

Obi-Wan bridled at the description. He opened his mouth, retort ready, but the call of a snow dove and the echoing reply of its mate reminded him of his duty and his resolve; the haunting sounds were ones he had not heard since leaving the monastery. There was no need to trade barbs with the prince; if Qui-Gon thought him a stuffed shirt then so be it.

"My home is a marvel of architecture, the buildings are built right into the mountain. I look forward to showing it to you." He had to fight to keep his smile from his face when Qui-Gon shot him a suspicious look, the prince's surprise at his words a worthy reward for his own restraint.

"Aren't you worried I'll ferret out all your secrets?" asked Qui-Gon.

"On the contrary, I think only good could come of you learning our ways. Calm, patience, tolerance, temper

"I thought you had gardens?"

"We do, the land directly around the monastery is kept clear during the growing season and we have learned what plants grow best in the snow during the off-season." Obi- Wan was saved from having to explain exactly how the brothers kept the winter at bay for an entire growing season by a shout from several of the guards. He and Qui- Gon reined in their horses.

"Look, more prints!" shouted Olie, pointing at the light covering of snow that easily showed the tracks they were following. "The horses we follow were joined by others, looks like four at least."


	39. Chapter 39

"They are safe, my lord." Obi-Wan kept his voice calm, the soft tone penetrating the loud ruccus far more efficiently than if he had bellowed. The guards and the prince grew quiet, faces turning expectantly to him.

"You say that when we have proof before our very eyes that they were waylaid by riders. What game are you playing?" the prince demanded.

"Those are not the tracks of your enemy. They are the tracks of an escort from the monastery."

"How can you be so sure?" demanded Qui-Gon, though there was a thread of hope in his voice now that had been absent earlier.

"No one gets this close to the monastery unless we allow it."

The prince laughed, his men joining in. "Unless you allow it? A bunch of monks?"

"Begging your pardon, Kenobi, but the idea of a bunch of monks chasing off a band like the one that torched the estate back there is comical," Lieutenant Olie told him, still chuckling.

"Believe what you will," replied Obi-Wan. "But the party that left the Prince's estate will be discovered, safe and sound, at the monastery. It is my fondest hope that Shmi and Anakin are among their number." Turning his horse, Obi-Wan resumed his gallop, anxious to be home among the men he knew and understood. He could hear Qui-Gon and his guards jesting as they spurred their horses on to catch up to him.

It rankled.

That shamed him; had he really been away from the monastery so long that he had so little control over his emotions - there was no place for pride amongst the order. And it hadn't been so very long at all, scant weeks; it appalled him anew, just how much the decadence and degradation of the court had affected him.

Already Obi-Wan could see a welcoming party assembling at the main gate of the compound, and he guessed that it would contain members of the council. Pater Mundi, Pater Tiin, Pater Koon and Mater Yaddle were easily recognizable as he neared the gate. "Padawan Kenobi." Mundi greeted him coolly.

He reined his horse and dismounted, aware of the disrespect of appearing seated before councilors. Obi-Wan led the horse forward and stepped into Pater Mundi's embrace, feeling tears sting bitterly at the corner of his eyes. He was unworthy of it.

Pater Mundi lay a calm hand against his cheek, some aura of his composure seeping into Obi-Wan, helping him regain control. "You and your companions have been expected. We had foreseen your arrival."

The prince arrived next; taking a look at Obi-Wan, he also dismounted. "Pater Mundi, his highness Prince Qui-Gon, heir of the Jinn Throne." Obi-Wan was pleased Qui-Gon had followed his example. Another unpredictable manifestation of diplomatic acumen.

Mundi impassively regarded the soldiers who formed their guard.

"We come in peace," Qui-Gon explained courteously. "These men were here for my defense during our journey, as we had reason to suspect foul play and outside attack on subjects of my kingdom."

"Men of war must surrender their swords to enter our enclave," Mundi spoke in his cool, measured voice. "Is this agreeable to you, Prince Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon's hands went to the buckle of his sword belt in answer.

Obi-Wan supervised as the guard surrendered their swords. He would see to it that Qui-Gon was guarded at all times in the monastery, by himself or by good men and true.

Pater Mundi finished introducing Qui-Gon to the other councilors, and Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon's agitated impatience in the set of his spine even though his face and words were quite polite. He could tell Pater Mundi saw it too, watching Qui-Gon keenly though unobtrusively. "Now that the courtesies have been observed, I believe there is a reunion you are anxious to make." Mundi gestured calmly and the great gate swung open.

A flash of gold hair darted through, and Qui-Gon shouted. "Anakin!" The boy barreled into his arms and Qui-Gon swung him around, holding him tight, then buried his head in the boy's hair. Again Obi-Wan was aware of Mundi watching the tender reunion and judging it minutely. He hoped his superior had come to the same conclusions Obi-Wan himself arrived at regarding Qui-Gon's affection for his son.

Then Qui-Gon's eyes locked with Shmi's as she stepped through the gate, dignified in her plain skirts with her long silvering hair coiled at the back of her neck. Qui- Gon held open his arms and with a gentle smile, she walked into them. Obi-Wan watched as they hugged warmly, realising that the love between them ran deeply, though it no longer burned with the passion that had produced Anakin.

Anakin watched them, rolling his eyes, but he waited a moment or two before interupting the embrace.

Obi-Wan felt himself smile as the boy tugged on Qui-Gon's breeches, his willingness to wait any longer for more of his father's attentions at an end. "We were attacked!" exclaimed the lad, though he didn't sound in the least upset by the notion, quite the opposite in fact.

The prince picked the boy up again, holding him in one arm, the other slung over Shmi's shoulder. "I know," he told his son. "We saw the manor. I was very worried about you and your mother."

"It wasn't that scary-- it was kind of neat," Anakin proclaimed with an air of ease only the young could manage. "We were getting ready for bed and all of a sudden there was this terrible yell from outside and men dressed in black came crashing in through the windows and the door. We couldn't even see their faces. Most of the guards started to fight them, but Cap'n Panaka and Sergeant Antilles took me and mom out the kitchen window. Lieutenant Tarpals was there with two horses and we all got on them and started riding. When I looked back I could see the stable was on fire. I've never seen anything like it!" Anakin's childish voice had risen during his tale and he all but cheered.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but closed it again before saying anything; it was not his place to chide the boy, not that he expected Qui-Gon would. The prince surprised him, his voice quiet and serious as he addressed his son. "Men lost their lives in that battle, Anakin. They lost them protecting you and your mother. They had families who will be as upset about loosing them as I was when I thought that you were among the dead."

Anakin blinked at him, looking surprised. Obi-Wan wondered suddenly if anyone had ever advised Qui-Gon so helpfully, with an eye toward making him grow as a man.

"Yes, sir." Anakin's exuberance dimmed to a thoughtful, more respectful demeanor. "I'm sorry, sir."

Qui-Gon ruffled the lad's hair, then pulled him into another tight hug. Shmi smiled quietly, looking tearful, and she bent to gather them both into her arms. Obi-Wan stepped back, feeling suddenly ill-at-ease, not really a part of this tableau. An interloper. Temporary, unworthy. His heart ached; he let himself feel the pain, hoping it would help him learn his place.

Pater Mundi's keen eyes cut toward him, judging him as insightfully as they had judged Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan flushed slightly and drew himself into a posture of perfect serenity. If that was all he could do, he would do it.

Greetings finished, they entered the gate and strolled through the courtyard. Obi-Wan's brother monks and fellow padawans eyed him curiously even as they came to take the horses to the monastery stable.

"Perhaps now I will learn why you wear a braid." Qui-Gon was at his elbow and Obi-Wan hadn't even noticed his approach. Being back at home was no excuse for dropping his guard, and he flushed again.

"It designated your bodyguard as a Padawan of our order," Pater Mundi spoke smoothly. "He did not share his rank with you?"

"I did not think it mattered." Qui-Gon sidestepped the question. "My father's trust that you would send the best person for the job is complete." Nevertheless, Obi-Wan could feel the curiosity in the gaze that Qui-Gon turned his way. Coupled with the disapproval he could feel emanating from Pater Mundi it made him feel like a small boy caught in a lie.

He'd told himself he'd kept his rank secret for fear of losing what respect the prince did hold for him, was the truth that he had suffered from Pride? The joy he felt at returning home faded somewhat; the list of his sins was growing long indeed.


	40. Chapter 40

Pater Mundi assigned several padawans to show the prince and his retinue to their quarters. "I hope you will forgive me your highness, but I have a number of matters to see to," the old monk said with a simple bow. "You will attend me, Obi-Wan."

"I understood that Kenobi was a part of my staff now," protested Qui-Gon.

"I can assure your majesty that you are safe within these walls. You have no need of a bodyguard while you are with us."

Pater Mundi did not wait for an answer, instead turning and heading calmly toward his office. Obi-Wan glanced at Qui- Gon, noting the prince's frown at being so summarily dismissed. When Qui-Gon turned to him, Obi-Wan also bowed and with a soft "your majesty," hurried to catch up to Pater Mundi.

Knowing he was in disgrace, Obi-Wan pulled the cowl of his robe up over his head to accept and acknowledge his shame. He followed Mundi gracefully, burning with shame every step of the way, feeling eyes follow him. Shame. A definite symptom of foolish pride.

When he arrived in Pater Mundi's small cell, his superior was already seated at its spindly desk, tapping the parchment of Obi-Wan's letter against his thigh. "Your letter was most illuminating, Padawan Kenobi." He unrolled it and scanned its words. "It tells me much that you intended, and perhaps things that you did not."

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling his face crimson. It had been easier to confess his weakness in an abstract forum, on paper, than it was to admit it in person. "The prince has it in him to be a good man, but I do not have it in me to guide him." The words tasted bitter like ashes.

"Has he bedded you?" Mundi's words were so calm their import was nearly lost on Obi-Wan. He blinked and then felt his face go even hotter.

"No, Pater. I have not succumbed to that temptation." Yet. Light send that it could never happen now. He was safe again.

"What course would you choose for your future?" Again so calm, as though Obi-Wan's entire life did not hang on the words.

"I would take penance. Solitude, mortification of flesh, fasting to increase spiritual purity. I would renew my studies and work to regain my place within the Order. I want to be a Knight." Obi-Wan heard his voice quaver with the last sentence, the depth of his emotion coming out.

Pater Mundi nodded thoughtfully. "Only you can know the depths of your heart. Only you can choose your path to wisdom." He turned half away from Obi-Wan and tucked the scroll away, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and beginning to write.

Obi-Wan blinked, realizing that he'd been dismissed. Mundi's coolness did not bode well for his chances of re- acceptance. "Pater, I come to you penitent."

"Do you?" The murmur was distracted. "You may begin your penance, if you wish."

"Does that mean you will allow me to stay?"

Pater Mundi's head came up at that, his sharp gaze cutting through Obi-Wan as it always had. "Does your willingness to make penance depend on my answer?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then I suggest that you begin your penance and meditate on what path you must follow."

"Yes, Pater," replied Obi-Wan. He sat stiffly in his chair, wanting nothing more than to turn from the penetrating scrutiny and leave, but there was still one matter that it was his duty to follow through on.

"Was there anything else," Pater Mundi asked dryly.

"What about the prince?"

"What about him?"

"Will you assign him a new bodyguard, one who is better suited to the task?"

"Why do you care?" Obi-Wan suspected there was more to Pater Mundi's question than met the eye, but he didn't dwell on it.

"I have not yet been relieved of my mission to protect him. It is therefore my duty to make sure that when he leaves our borders, he is protected." Obi-Wan swallowed as he waited for the monk's answer, both dreading and anticipating his release from his duty to Qui-Gon.

"The prince and his party will stay as our guests for a few days. When they are ready to leave, I will assign someone as his bodyguard if you are still bent on refusing to continue with the assignment."

Obi-Wan relaxed, relief filling him. "Thank you, Pater." He rose and bowed deeply, burying his hands deep in the sleeves of his robe. "I will begin my penance."

The scratch of Pater Mundi's quill was his only reply and Obi-Wan made his way quickly from the cell, hoping to remain undisturbed as he made his retreat. It wasn't to be, though; as he reached the courtyard several of his fellow padawans greeted him.

While they were encouraged to commune with the world that surrounded their walls, this was mainly limited to nature and most padawans never encountered people outside of the monastery. Everyone wanted to know what the Court of Jinn was like, what the people were like, dozens of questions peppered him.

By contrast, Obi-Wan didn't want to discuss the food at court or the King's health or Prince Qui-Gon's habits and foibles. Most certainly not the latter. He decided that the first portion of his penance could be a vow of silence.

Bending his head, he refused speech, passing through the mass until a single pair of feet appeared in front of him and refused to move. He lifted his head to find that he was facing one of his best friends, Bant. Her eyes were thoughtful and she grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him away, rescuing him from the throng.

"You've been away such a short time, and yet your eyes have changed," she commented quietly as they hurried down the stone hall toward her quarters. Obi-Wan realized suddenly that Bant was female, and blinked. She was taking him to her bedroom, and yet she was innocent of what that might mean to an outsider... and of the associations it had for Obi-Wan now.

She was as different from Sira as the day from the night. As different as Obi-Wan had once been. Now he hung somewhere in between, perched miserably on a razor's edge.

He went with her nonetheless, and decided that a vow of silence would be as much an indulgence as a penance. Not a good way to begin his retraining. Bant's cell was small, with only a simple bed and a wooden desk and chair, like his own, like they all were. Even Pater Mundi's chamber boasted no more room or amenities.

He stood in the doorway, hands buried in the sleeves of his robe to keep from fiddling, watching as his friend sat on the edge of the bed. Finally she rolled her eyes. "Just sit down, Obi-Wan," she said, pulling the chair out from the desk.

He did so, suddenly feeling more comfortable in the familiar surroundings. He tried to gather his thoughts, thankful as she waited patiently for him to begin.

"It was nothing like what I expected. Nothing like I could have ever imagined."

"It's changed you," she suggested and Obi-Wan nodded.

"It was a test of my character and I'm afraid I have made a very poor showing."

She shook her head compassionately, her big brown eyes sympathetic. "Obi-Wan, you were always one to demand the impossible of yourself, and then condemn yourself if you didn't achieve it. Surely it isn't as bad as you think."

"Bant..." his voice trailed away. He couldn't describe what had happened to him without allowing it to contaminate her purity.

"The outer world is beautiful and seductive. It's unimaginably insidious. It gets inside you and eats you from the inside out, before you ever know it's come inside. A sword won't defeat it... and that is the only true defense I know. I have our order's teachings, but all they serve to do is show what a failure I am."

She shook her head, baffled. "Others have gone out and returned to us unchanged, Obi-Wan."

"Then perhaps it is a flaw in me, and only in me." He speculated miserably. "If that is so, then it is so. I will be glad that no other could be so easily corrupted."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, voice soft.

"I am to begin penance immediately and I can only pray that Pater Mundi will allow me to remain with the order despite my failures."

She looked shocked. "Surely it is not as bad as that!"

Obi-Wan shrugged, again not wishing to contaminate her with the specifics.

"Have you broken your vows?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I may as well have," he replied quietly, knowing the words to be true, though he had not until now completely admitted it to himself. He smiled sadly at Bant, watching as her mouth opened on a silent 'oh'. "I should go, I have a lot to think about."

His friend just nodded, brown eyes large and wet with unshed tears.

He headed toward his own cell, hands folded back inside his sleeves, for warmth this time; he'd never felt so cold in these familiar halls, or so alone.


	41. Chapter 41

For perhaps the first time in his long and meticulously documented life, Ki Adi Mundi did not feel like writing. He trimmed his quill and put away the parchment, steepling his fingers and settling back in his rickety chair to think.

Poor Kenobi. So earnest and so anguished. He would serve a lifetime's penance willingly for the chance to be a Knight. It was a pity indeed that he was not meant to be one. Kenobi's destiny was not to be that of his brothers in arms. He had a greater fate in store for him.

Even the most dubious point of prophecy, the unbelievably difficult healing... the boy had managed it on his own, and hardly seemed to realize what he had done. It was just another proof of the strong connection between Kenobi's life and Prince Jinn's.

Foretold when he was first brought to be trained, his destiny hung large in so many possible futures that it had been almost certain this day would come. Unusual when a foretelling was so strong. Unusual and powerful. Mundi suspected he would not have to see to Kenobi's removal from the monastery. The lad would probably arrive at the need to go on his own.

Still, it distressed him to see the lad's pain, and shamed him to know of his own part in causing it. While Kenobi certainly would have been upset to learn that his destiny lay elsewhere, it would have eased his conscience to know that his attraction to the prince was not merely the temptations of flesh proving too strong for him; vows were much harder to endure when hearts were involved.

The foretellings were never revealed to the novitiates who came to the monastery to be trained. Recruited or rejected when they arrived, based on the telling, it would have been tempting fate to give them any hint of what was divined. Instead, what was seen was written down in one of the order's most sacred books, to which only Pater Mundi himself and two others were privy.

That such a thing even existed was a carefully guarded secret; kings and other men would pay dearly for the possible knowledge of the future it held. At times like these, however, when one of his monks was suffering needlessly, it galled him not to be able to share what he knew, or at least what he possibly knew.

At the same time, who was he to judge whether or not this suffering and penance was not exactly what Kenobi needed to grow into the man he needed to be?

For that matter, a little suffering and penance would benefit Prince Jinn. Mundi had his own sources regarding the Prince's behavior. Kenobi might be shocked at the improvement in it since his advent at the castle. Goodness knows, Prince Qui-Gon had been a hellion and a rebel since the day of his birth. Always questioning rules and responsibilities, and with no firm hand to guide him into manhood. It was little wonder he was still wild like a youth. Obi-Wan balanced him well, even though he did not believe so.

Mundi summoned Mater Yaddle. "When Obi-Wan goes to take his penance on the mountain, see to it that the Prince hears of his going."

She nodded, her sage-grey eyes thoughtful. "He has already asked for Kenobi's return."

"They have bonded strongly, if unwillingly." Mundi nodded contemplatively. "It is well. They will have need of strength in the times to come."

"Will you insist he go with the prince?"

"No," said Mundi, allowing himself a small smile. "I shouldn't need to. Kenobi's sense of duty will not allow him to eschew this mission. He will choose to leave when the prince and his party do. I only wish he would come to realize he is not meant to be one of us as easily."

"We cannot tell him-" began Yaddle but Mundi held up his hand, silencing her.

"I am aware of that, but it does not make it any easier to sit and watch him suffer, saying nothing."

"Knowledge earned is far more useful than knowledge freely given."

"Thank you, Mater Yaddle," he replied dryly. In many ways he envied Kenobi his place outside of these cloistered walls. But regret, envy and yearning for what one could not have had no place in a life well-lived. Kenobi would grow to learn that as well.


	42. Chapter 42

Qui-Gon paced the cell he had been assigned, twelve steps in one direction, turn, twelve in the opposite direction, turn, and begin again. A simple single bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe and two more chairs. How could anyone live like this?

He flung himself in one of the chairs, grimacing at the lack of padding on the simple wooden seat. The height of luxury. His guide, a young monk whose innocent face had made Kenobi look like a debauched satyr, had informed him that the guest rooms were far more ostentatious than their cells. He shook his head with disbelief as he looked around the stark room.

Ostentatious. It suddenly explained a great deal about his bodyguard's behavior. The castle and its inhabitants must have seemed so decadent to those changeable eyes. How could the boy have seen his father's court as anything but profligate, pretentious, drowning in its own decadence.

"Surely family quarters contain more luxuries than you imply," Qui-Gon protested, carefully keeping his voice cordial.

"Family quarters?" The young monk blinked, looking confused. "We live singly, Your Highness."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Singly?"

The monk smiled, helpful and the faintest touch condescending. "Yes, Prince Qui-Gon. Our work leaves no room for families. All novitiates take a vow of chastity upon entering the monastery, and we keep this vow until we choose to leave the order, or until our time comes to rejoin the forces of the universe." He looked at Qui-Gon with clear, guileless eyes.

"But..." Qui-Gon heard himself begin to sputter, and let his question die away.

"The entire monastery is our family, and serenity replaces passion. Our works give us purpose." He sounded almost as though he were reciting, matter-of-fact and completely without distress.

"What would be the penalty for breaking this vow?" Qui-Gon heard the question emerge with the intensity of a swordthrust, and his heart and breath hung still, awaiting the answer.

"Expulsion from the order." The monk frowned very slightly, confused by Qui-Gon's concern. "Exile."

"It seems strict." He felt his world spinning with shame, pieces of the puzzle that was Obi-Wan falling into place. He'd been a fool, and a crass one, at that.

"It is our way."

Qui-Gon nodded, letting the moment pass, moving to examine his desk, which held a quill, ink, and sheets of parchment.

"Your wife and son are housed in the next room," the boy told him.

"She's not my wife," Qui-Gon answered idly.

"Oh." It sounded choked and Qui-Gon turned to find a familiar expression on the unfamiliar face.

"I'm afraid our ways are quite different from your own," Qui-Gon told the monk. "I wouldn't make a very good monk."

The young man smiled through his blush and looked away. Qui-Gon realized suddenly he was waiting to be dismissed. On the verge of doing just that, he stopped and asked instead, "Would you be so kind as to show me where I could find Pater Mundi?"

"Of course," answered the boy, though he looked surprised. Qui-Gon followed him out of the room and down the hall.

"So why do padawans wear the braid?" he asked, breaking the eerie silence that seemed to fill the halls.

"It is a symbol of apprenticeship." The lad reached to trail his braid through his palm, smiling with pleasure. "When I was first accepted as an apprentice, my hair was cut short, except for this lock, which I was allowed to grow. Its length marks my devotion to discipline and the duration of my service to the order. One day, when I am found worthy to become a Knight, it will be cut from me by my mentor and master. Then it will become a symbol both of my success and of his, and he will hold it as a badge of honor."

"Oh." Qui-Gon knew he sounded nonplused, watching as the lad touched his braid with reverence. He remembered Bruck suddenly, and his own command for his young lover to braid his hair like Obi-Wan's. His face flushed with painful heat. No wonder Kenobi had shaved the offending braid away. He'd been an insensitive brute with Obi-Wan, disrespectful and indifferent to everything that made up his bodyguard's beliefs.

"And the beads in the braid?" This lad had two, but Obi- Wan wore three, two red and one yellow.

"Honors in service. Tasks accomplished with success and proper humility."

Qui-Gon brightened. Perhaps Obi-Wan would earn such an honor for having saved Qui-Gon's life with his healing. Maybe that was even the reason that Mundi had fetched him away.

"Here we are," said the young monk, interupting Qui-Gon's thoughts. He knocked on the door, even though it was open and waited until a quiet voice bid them enter, whereupon he escorted Qui-Gon into the small space.

"The Prince wishes to speak with you, Pater."

"Thank you, Wedge," Pater Mundi said to the boy who then bowed to them both and disappeared back out of the door.

"Please, your majesty, have a seat," Mundi told him. "I've just got to finish up this letter and then I'll be able to give you my full attention."

Qui-Gon sat in the only unoccupied chair and looked around. He probably shouldn't have been surprised to discover that this room was no larger than the living cells he'd noticed as they'd made their way here. There was no bed of course, and the desk was bigger, but this was no luxurious place of work. He supposed that Mundi's own cell was the same as all the others. Qui-Gon wondered how the man managed to command so much respect when there was nothing to set him apart.

His clothes were the same as Kenobi's had been, in fact Kenobi's had been newer and lacking the ink stains that covered Mundi's. The man wore no jewel or insignia, there was no air of superiority or command about him. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, a simple monk.

Qui-Gon inclined his head to him. "Thank you for the audience, Councilor."

"Pater Mundi will do, Prince Qui-Gon." Mundi continued writing. He had something of the same serenity Obi-Wan did, only polished to the consistency of finely blown glass. A bubble of purity around which any untoward happenstance or feeling would part seamlessly, leaving him untouched.

Mundi's pen scratched tirelessly as he wrote, his face a pure blank that made Qui-Gon feel uneasy. Would Obi-Wan look like that one day? Would he lose youth and beauty and capacity to care? Would a letter matter more to him than concern for people? It chafed Qui-Gon's independent soul. He wanted to think for himself, to do for himself... not to obey some arbitrary rule and strive for some impossible standard of self-denial.

Again, he had to remind himself that was a selfish viewpoint. He'd only just resolved to hold a new respect for Obi-Wan's beliefs; this attitude made a poor start for keeping that vow.

At last Mundi finished his letter, rolling the parchment and tying it with brown homespun string. Simple. Elegant movements that gracefully minimized motion. He set aside his quill and turned to Qui-Gon at last, folding his hands placidly. "I understand you have concerns about your bodyguard?"

"For weeks he has been my shadow and now he has been whisked away."

"Surely you do not fear for your safety within our walls? I can assure you that you and your party will come to no harm here," Mundi told him.

"I realize that, and while I appreciate your hospitality, especially in regard to my family, I would like to be on my way home. If you would return the boy to me, we will trouble you no longer." Qui-Gon surprised himself with his words, with the sense of urgency that colored them. What was driving him to be gone from this place as soon as possible?

Mundi waved his hand, clearly dismissing Qui-Gon's concerns. "A few extra people will not put us out, our numbers expand and contract regularly as our members come and go on various errands and missions. Besides, if you wish to leave with Padawan Kenobi, you shall have to wait until he returns."

"Returns?" Qui-Gon sat up in his chair, glaring at the calm monk. "He's gone? Where? Why was I not informed?"

"Informed? I'm sorry, your majesty, but that isn't how things work here. Nor is Obi-Wan beholden to you while he is within these walls -he does not need your permission to come and go. And his penance is not for you and I to discuss, rather it is a matter between he and his faith."

Qui-Gon sat back, struck speechless by Mundi's words. "Penance?" He inquired carefully. "For successfully completing his mission, protecting my life from harm, healing the most grievous wound I have ever sustained using all the resources of his body and mind... penance?" His voice had risen to thunder inside the tiny, echoing cell, genuine rage swelling in him.

Mundi sat as calmly as Qui-Gon had suspected he would when under attack, totally unstirred by the genuine distress his words had generated. It sickened Qui-Gon with impotent fury to realize he cared so little.

"It is not your place to judge whether a monk in my enclave requires penance or not. Nor is it given you the right to inquire why. If Kenobi chooses to share the information with you, he will do so. If not, you should respect the way of life he has chosen." Mundi observed as calmly as he might have commented on a cloud passing before the sun.

Qui-Gon stopped short with his mouth open, his next shout pre-empted in midstream. "Where is he, and what is he doing?"

He expected no answer, and was therefore shocked when one came without resistance. "He has gone to the mountain." Mundi tilted his head toward one side, indicating direction.

"When will he return?" Qui-Gon inquired sharply.

"If he returns, it will be in his own time."

Qui-Gon stood, his palm slapping onto the desktop with a sharp crack. "If?!"

Mundi sat back, lifting his chin to study the prince's expression. "If." Perfectly level.

"You cold-hearted bastard!" he ground out, voice almost choked with fury.

"It is not my place to interfere with the choices of the men and women who choose to serve the order."

"Choices of the...he chose this?"

"Only Padawan Kenobi knows what is in his heart, knows how deep his transgressions may or may not be. It is not my place to do more than guide."

"I'm going after him," snarled Qui-Gon, sick with the possibilities of where Obi-Wan's 'choice' might lead him and of his own role in blackening that innocent heart.

"I cannot stop you," Mundi told him, as calm and unruffled as ever. "It is not my place to tell you what is in your heart either."


	43. Chapter 43

Obi-Wan's own cell was the same as every other cell in the monastery and yet, as he walked through the open door, he felt the welcome comfort of it wash over him. He hung his robe over the back of his chair and removed his boots, setting them at the foot of the bed. With a heavy heart, he folded himself into a lotus position on the cold stone floor.

He thought it would take time to achieve a meditative trance, but it was practically effortless. Whether it was the familiar room, the aura of his fellow brothers, or his desperate need, he was soon pondering the matter in the way thousands had before him. He let himself drift, feeling the familiar aura of home and the surrounding chill of the mountains. Their purity beckoned him from afar, a beacon to his weary soul.

The calm energies around him, usually so congenial to his spirit, felt oddly remote, and he wondered if someone had shielded him to keep him from contaminating his brothers and sisters in arms. The only other energy he could truly sense burning brightly was... he reached for it, then realized he was touching the Prince's aura, alive with fire and purpose. He'd never meditated to find Prince Qui-Gon before, though he'd sought him once at the very beginning, and sensed the pale shadow of this.

He hadn't been able to sense him so strongly at that time, though. And in truth, he shouldn't be able to touch the man's energy so readily now; the Prince had no training in these disciplines and he was not reaching out toward Obi- Wan himself in this half-limbo between body and spirit.

Obi-Wan found himself comparing the fire to the quiet chill of the mountains, its dance to their stillness, the soot of its burning to their white purity. He burned too, kindled by Qui-Gon's flame, alien to the people and the mountains he loved. Perhaps he needed to fill himself with the silent cold to quench its flames.

Obi-Wan rose, stripping himself and tossing his robe and tunic and trousers away. His boots clunked on the stone floor, and he lay spread on it, his penis chilled and withered by the hard surface. Yes. The cold was what he needed. But it was not enough; even as he lay there, his body warmed the surface of the stone, dulling its effect on him. He needed more.

Obi-Wan rose and took up his robe again, pulling it around his bare body. Leaving his boots, he slipped out into the hall and took the back way out of the compound, choosing his route to avoid as many people as possible. His bare feet made no sound as he traveled past the kitchens and the laundry room and he felt like a ghost, haunting familiar but no longer his own territory.

The thought gave him pause and when he reached the back gate, he turned and looked out over the buildings and courtyard that made up the monastery proper, that feeling of detachment returning as he surveyed his home. It seemed somehow foreign to him now and half closing his eyes, he could easily superimpose the Jinn Castle over its outlines. He felt a sadness pour through his body; was he so tainted that he could no longer call this place home?

With renewed determination he slipped through the gate and began the climb upward. He followed a path for some way, the tramped down snow cold under his soles. When the path ended at the outer reaches of the monastery gardens he looked up. The point he had in mind was a half-hour's hard work away, but it was remote and high enough that he would feel removed from all but the mountain and the sky.

His feet had grown numb though the rest of his body was warm within the confines of his robe. The chill moved up to his shins as his first step from the path found him almost knee deep in the snow. He revised his estimate to an hour and decided the labor would make a good companion to the mortification of his flesh; he would scour the filth from his mind and body with sweat and ice.

The snow became less deep as the way grew steeper. Obi-Wan had to cling to the hillside in several spots, especially near the outcropping he was aiming for, but he completed the journey without mishap.

Removing his robe, he folded it neatly and laid it on a rock bared by the sun. That same sun danced over his skin, warming him despite the snow he stood in the midst of and for a moment he let his head drop back, enjoying the warm caress of the light. Then he reminded himself what he was here for.

Obi-Wan gazed down at the powdery snow enclosing his cold feet, and quietly lay down in a drift on the leeward side of the outcrop. He rolled himself in the pure stinging white until it coated his body, then burrowed his way into the heart of the drift, moving with slow patience. He regulated his breathing, sending his blood pulsing through the extremities of his body to protect them from damage, and once again slipped into the trance, losing himself in pure numb white.

The icy silence of the mountain owned him, slowly purging him of himself, leaving only a beating heart and the slow swish of cooling blood. He lay still and let the icy snow cradle him. It reached deeply into him, and he let it... it must wipe him clean. Slower and lower, he drifted into pure white oblivion. Unaware of time except in the rhythm of his slowing heart. Seeking the whiteness. Smothering out material concerns and converging on his life. All that must remain would be the spark of existence. Not the flame of lust, not the smudge of vanity or pride.

But as the cold drove him deeper, dangerously so, those things did not vanish. They condensed, wedded to the core of him... a part of him, a part of what kept him alive. One with the energies that moved him. And the pure white silence was his enemy, but he was too deep now; he could not stir himself.

Well, then. In serenity, he could find his grave, and in doing so, retain his honor. A vanity of its own, that small triumph, but it was all he had left as the cold white pressed hard against the fragile flame of his life, tempting him with surrender.

Eternity hung between beats of his heart, beckoning, calling with a soft, quiet voice.

The snow held him in the only lover's embrace he would know if he let go, the mountain cradled him like the mother he had left behind, so sure of his calling, of the deep seated need of his purpose. Had this truly been his calling? To come, to learn and grow and die, barely fully grown, not yet a Knight?

To surrender now would leave him pure, his vows unbroken.

And his duty undone. His duty to the order, to the prince, to himself.

Lost in that world of white, a heartbeat away from death's even colder embrace, he realized that he could not surrender. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps merely that same stubbornness that had borne him to the monastery in the first place, but he could not let go without fulfilling his obligations. At the very least he owed the prince the courtesy of informing him that a new bodyguard would be assigned to protect him; he owed himself and the order the courtesy of completing the task he had been assigned.

He had thought himself strong and capable and instead had discovered his flesh and spirit both to be weak, running from his duty like a frightened child the first time he was tested.

The wide world was suddenly his enemy, the snow trapping him beneath its crust and he struggled against it. He fought against the clinging cold, limbs flailing, searching for breath. He pushed and he strained against its hold, searching for the light, for air, and with a stunning suddenness burst from the snow, mouth open wide as he gasped for air.

He was shivering, his body wet, chilled and weak, like a babe newly torn from its mother's womb and he crawled over to his robe and wrapped it around himself. His circulation began to respond now that he was out of the chilling blanket of snow, but the sun was sinking low, and night winds were already rising, cutting at him with cruel teeth that would turn far colder than his snowbank when the last of the light faded from the sky.

He got up and began to stumble down through the tracks he'd made on his way up. His feet were numb, and in danger of frostbite... even the loss of a single toe would spoil his balance for fighting. He tried to hurry and fell in the snow, wetting his cloak. The wind pierced him even more keenly now, and he began to shiver, feeling his fingers lose sensation as well.

Sheer willpower kept him standing as the shadows stretched to eclipse the sun. A skiff of snow skirled down in front of his face, blown from the drifts higher up the mountain, stinging his eyes and wetting his cold face. Obi-Wan licked his lips, dry and cracking in the chill air. Another fifteen minutes. Perhaps twenty-five in his current condition. It would be dark by the time he returned.

He realized his feet were bleeding, cut by the cruel stones, a crimson crust of ice solidified around his heels and toes. He was leaving red-spotted prints trailing behind him.

He fell again, his robe growing heavy as the wet began to freeze into ice, weighing him down. He tried to get up and failed and tried again.

The cold had his limbs now, the icy pins fading, leaving behind lassitude and warmth. He knew, with sudden and simple clarity, that he wasn't going to make it; the mountain had won him after all.


	44. Chapter 44

Qui-Gon strode from Mundi's office, following the corridor into the courtyard and searching for someone who could tell him how to find Obi-Wan. He could have asked Mundi, but first he would have had to suppress the urge to wring the man's neck, to make that calm face turn red and then purple, to watch as the dispassionate eyes grew wild and fearful. But then again, Mundi probably would greet death with that same equanimity and that would have maddened Qui-Gon even more.

He barely saw the beauty of the courtyard, the intricately laid stonework and the flowers that bloomed despite the snow surrounding the monastery. There were a number of monks enjoying the quiet of the courtyard, but they all seemed to shrink away from him and Qui-Gon realized that he was glowering.

With great effort he forced himself calm, to paint his face with a pleasant mask. It didn't seem to work, and he guessed they could tell the difference between forced calm and true serenity.

Suddenly he spied a young woman he'd glimpsed earlier with Obi-Wan, and veered from his path to confront her. "Padawan," the strange title came to his lips. "I am seeking Padawan Kenobi. I was told he had gone to the mountain. Can you help me?"

She blinked, displaying long lashes and liquid-brown eyes. In another time and circumstance he would have been tempted to flirt, to try to interest her in his bed. Now he only seethed with impatience. She glanced up at the darkening sky; already torches were being lit in the courtyard.

"Obi-Wan will return when he is ready," she spoke softly, but Qui-Gon could see a flicker of uncertainty behind her facade of calm. Good. The bastards hadn't destroyed her spirit yet.

"Night is falling," Qui-Gon pointed out. "Perhaps he has been injured and is unable to return. He might die in the cold."

"There is no death..." her voice faltered, and she clasped her cloak tightly around her body.

Qui-Gon shook rkness. She opened a gate in the wall, the sound of the latch loud as she raised it. "Follow the path to its end. Obi-Wan's tracks should be easy enough to read in the snow."

"Thank you," said Qui-Gon, glad that someone at least seemed to care about Obi-Wan's well-being.

"Good luck," he heard her call out softly as he held the torch high and started up the path she'd indicated.

The path seemed interminably long and by the time it disappeared beneath his boots the darkness was complete. He bent over the ground, holding the torch low, looking for Obi-Wan's tracks. He passed them by twice before deciding that the slender footsteps here could only be Kenobi's. "Sith!" he cursed as he realized the boy hadn't been wearing his boots.

The sense of urgency was back, tugging at him in a most unfamiliar manner, but he heeded its warning, following the tracks as quickly as he could.

He nearly tripped over Kenobi about forty paces in.

He sank to the ground, hands reaching out automatically. He cried out as his hands hit the boy's robe-- it was frozen solid. Fear ran through him; was Obi-Wan dead?

He had to break the limp body out of the ice-- the boy wasn't frozen yet, at least, though Obi-Wan was pale and cold, his bare feet bloody and crusted with ice. Qui-Gon skinned the frozen cloak off him and replaced it with his own ermine-lined one, wrapping his bodyguard tenderly.

Obi-Wan dangled limply in his arms, and Qui-Gon turned, staggering back toward the monastery compound as quickly as he could manage. He'd stir those complacent bastards within an inch of their very souls if that's what it took to get help for Kenobi.

He staggered up to the wooden door and kicked it hard, heedless of pain in his toes or scuffs on his riding boot. "Bring healers and hot water! Immediately!"

The door swung open immediately to reveal Bant. Her hand rose over her mouth as she stared in horror at Obi-Wan's blue lips and his white face, fingers and toes mottled with the onset of frostbite. She scampered out, raising an alarm cry; Qui-Gon stalked in and detoured into the kitchens, laying Obi-Wan out next to the embers of the supper cookfire.

He cradled the lad against his chest, choked with grief, watching snow finally begin to melt out of Obi-Wan's hair and lashes, pale bloody pools of water about his feet. He was afraid to chafe the damaged toes and fingers for fear of causing even more injury, so instead he reached for a discarded kettle of thin soup and trickled it through Obi-Wan's lips in small doses, hoping to warm him from within.

A few scuttles of coal thrown onto the fire in between spoonfuls of soup, and soon the kitchen was sweltering, sweat popping out on his brow, but Obi-Wan remained pale and still. His heart barely fluttered against Qui-Gon's palm, beating too slowly and too faintly. Qui-Gon swore viciously, not giving a damn about the monks and padawans who had begun trickling in.

"Warm blankets," he snapped. "We need to wrap him. Where are the healers?"

They put blankets in the bread-ovens, heating them as quickly as possible, and soon the acrid smell of singed wool permeated the air, but Qui-Gon didn't notice it, wrapping Obi-Wan and then re-wrapping him in freshly heated blankets.

Then Pater Mundi was there, and another councilor whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember. The councilors laid hands on Kenobi and began ministering to the frost damage on his toes and fingers, chanting soft prayers for focus.

He let them do their work, but refused to relinquish his position, standing guard over his bodyguard, glowering at the two monks as they went about their healing.

It seemed to take a terribly long time and neither of them looked particularly hopeful when they were done. But surely frostbite was a simple matter when compared to his own injuries that Obi-Wan had healed. Surely Mundi and the other councilor were far more adept at such matters than the mere student his bodyguard had proven to be?

"Well," asked Qui-Gon as they finished, "is he going to be all right?"

"We've done what we can," Mundi responded quietly. "It should be enough."

"Should be? You aren't trying hard enough. I know what you can do," Qui-Gon pulled open his blouse, showing his unmarked belly. "I was dying and now there isn't even a scar."

Pater Mundi came around and examined him closely, then closed his eyes, pressing his hand against the skin where Qui-Gon indicated the wound had been. Qui-Gon could feel something touch him inside, the way silk slid over his skin. It stopped when Pater Mundi moved away again.

"Remarkable," said the monk. "I knew he had healed you, but there isn't a trace left to indicate you were hurt in the first place. It is outside of the breadth of our experience."

Qui-Gon felt his eyes narrow. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Quite simply that you should be dead. From his description of the wound, I doubt that even our best monks trained in the healing arts could have saved your life... and yet Kenobi did."

"How?"

"I have no answers for you, your majesty. You must do as we all do along this life--journey and discover your own answers."

"And Obi-Wan?"

"When he wakes he will have to decide for himself. Pulling him off the mountain like you did didn't change the fact that he must make his own decision."

"I saved him," said Qui-Gon.

"And what if he didn't want to be saved?" countered Mundi.

"He was halfway down your Sith-damned mountain, trying to get back here," Qui-Gon replied very quietly, feeling his anger at the man's coldness begin to rage within him once more.

"Then you made the right choice. Trust that he too will make the correct choice when he wakes and resign yourself to abide by his decision."

Qui-Gon watched him turn and glared at the straight back, but soon turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, who lay as still and as white as a corpse.


	45. Chapter 45

"Then you have done all you can for him?" Qui-Gon demanded.

"We have." Mundi turned back to answer and slipped his arms into his sleeves. "There are no better healers in the monastery."

Qui-Gon nodded shortly, then bent and hefted Obi-Wan bodily into his arms. He stalked out of the kitchen without further words, plowing through the large assembly of monks and padawans, heedless of polite etiquette. The warmed woollen blanket around Obi-Wan felt rough and scratchy; Qui-Gon yearned for gentle silks and cottons to wrap his bodyguard in, but he had none.

None but the fur of his ermine-lined cloak, and it was already wet and bloody. The rough homespun fabrics the monks provided would have to suffice.

Shmi appeared as he stalked into the main hall, leading him with quiet grace toward their sparsely furnished suite of rooms. Her lined brow was tight with distress, but Qui-Gon hardly noticed, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's waxen face. "Thank you," he managed as she pushed the door open, dismissing her from his mind.

She lingered, pushing back the blankets on the narrow cot so Qui-Gon could place Obi-Wan on it, building up the fire, sending a padawan for more coal. Anakin poked his head in, subdued and worried; Qui-Gon managed to spare him a reassuring smile, even though he felt his own low spirits keenly.

"He's still cold." Shmi laid her callused palm on Obi- Wan's forehead.

"I'll warm him then," Qui-Gon snapped, scratching at buttons and buckles. "Useless fools don't care whether he lives or dies. I don't see why he's so loyal to their misguided ways." He threw his clothes onto the floor and slipped into the cot at Obi-Wan's side.

Shmi lingered at the door, and he became aware of her gaze as he drew Kenobi's pale, chill body close to him, twining their legs, bringing Obi-Wan's arms around his chest. Qui- Gon glanced over his shoulder at her, and she smiled a small, sad smile, slowly backing out of the lamplight, shadow taking her slender form. "Care for him well," she whispered, and Qui-Gon felt a pang of guilt, but not enough to abandon his bodyguard and go after her. Not nearly enough.

"Obi-Wan." He whispered, hearing the door click shut behind him, roughing his beard against the smooth, still cheek. "Wake for me, Obi-Wan." He nuzzled a kiss against the unmoving face, brushed his lips across soft red-gold lashes, tender eyelids, the perfect nose and the smooth brow.

He denied himself Obi-Wan's lips, lingering over them merely to feel Kenobi's breath ghost forth and brush his mouth, the reassuring ebb and flow promising that the lad still lived.

He moved to the boy's ear, nuzzling it tenderly and calling softly, but Obi-Wan remained unconscious. At length he resigned himself to it, to a long night of not knowing if the cold would relinquish its hold on his bodyguard.

He had never been a very patient man.


	46. Chapter 46

Obi-Wan drifted, warm and cozy; he couldn't remember ever being quite so warm. It was an illusion, of course. He'd heard enough stories of men freezing to death that he knew that you believed yourself warm and happy, at peace: the cold's gift in exchange for your breath.

The warmth that surrounded him moved, shifted slightly, and a tendril of cold slid along one of Obi-Wan's legs. His eyes shot open; illusions didn't move. He was at the monastery -he would recognize the heavy gray stone of the wall in front of him in his dreams. It wasn't his own room, but it was a room within the sanctuary of the walls of the order.

The thick cotton and wool blankets that covered him were also familiar, their weight, their texture. What was not was the heat at his back, and around his waist and tangled with his own legs. He looked down at the arm across his waist, recognizing the brawny arm and the thick wrists upon which sat large hands that could be surprisingly delicate. The prince.

The very naked prince.

And he too was naked; he could feel the heat of Qui-Gon's body against his back, coarse hairs tickling the backs of his legs, and Qui-Gon's legs twined with his own. The soft beard was tickling the back of his neck, as was the come and go of the prince's breath.

He'd deliberately avoided thinking about what lay between the prince's legs and belly, but then Qui-Gon shifted, murmuring in his sleep and his shaft, hot like a poker from the fire, pressed tightly against Obi-Wan's naked buttocks. His own shaft lay quiescent between his legs, lax and flaccid against his sac; he supposed he should be thankful for that at least, but he could think of only one reason why he would be in bed, naked, with the Prince.

The fact that he had no recollection whatsoever of how he arrived at this place had very little bearing on the fact that he was indeed here. He drew a shuddering breath, wondering how he had passed from his resolve to do penance into the prince's bed so seamlessly.

He felt his eyes sting, and something deep inside his soul shivered... with joy. Shameful, secret joy. Nothing had ever felt so purely, sinfully good as sharing the prince's bed.

Qui-Gon stirred, and Obi-Wan felt himself shifted to look up into concerned blue eyes. He lay very still, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to confess that he didn't remember.

"You're awake," Qui-Gon whispered. His lips curved suddenly, his hands moving to frame Obi-Wan's face. "I didn't believe you would wake."

Obi-Wan blinked. That didn't sound like they'd had sex. He licked his lips, realizing they were cracked and painful. "What happened?" His voice rasped.

"You went out in the snow. You nearly died." Qui-Gon pulled his long, lean body back, separating them. "I warmed you myself." His voice turned a little gruff, a little abashed. "The healers weren't sure you would recover."

Obi-Wan blinked, memory nagging at him vaguely-- the vast white silence beckoning, the spark of flame that was his soul ebbing. A final view of the faraway walls of the compound, knowing that he could go no further. He frowned, and Qui-Gon's face mirrored the expression.

"You will need to drink." Qui-Gon lifted himself from the bed, mindless of his nudity, rushing about to place the kettle on the fire himself, preparing a mug with sugar for tea. His anxiety over Obi-Wan's condition was more than evident in the urgency of his movements.

Obi-Wan watched him, torn between astonishment, disorientation, and faint but unmistakable disappointment. He brought me back from the brink of death, just as I did for him. Our lives are twined, he realized, blinking. And that was what Pater Mundi had refused to tell him. It was what he'd tried to escape when he went into the snow. There would be no leaving His Highness Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi- Wan must instead find the reserves of strength within himself to do his duty and preserve his purity.

Qui-Gon turned back to him and Obi-Wan fought to keep the blush from his cheeks. He felt unnerved by the prince's sharp stare and searched frantically for some topic of conversation. "The last thing I remember was seeing the glow of fires from the monastery. I thought I'd fallen."

"You had. When I found out where you'd gone, I went after you myself," Qui-Gon told him, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. One of the prince's large hands rested over his forehead. "You've warmed up pretty well."

"You shouldn't have followed me," Obi-Wan said after clearing his throat.

"And why not?" growled Qui-Gon.

"I was led by my conscience to take my penance on the mountain; I had to make the decision to stay or return myself."

The prince was standing again, a thunderous expression on his face, and Obi-Wan found himself shrinking back involuntarily.

"You'd rather be dead?" Qui-Gon asked and Obi-Wan had never heard his voice sound quite so cold.

"No, I had chosen to come down from the mountain. It is not my time; I have a mission I must fulfill."

"Then it was a good thing I came after you," Qui-Gon told him brusquely.

"Only if you understand why you shouldn't have followed me. What would you have done if you'd found me further up, deliberately burrowed into a snowy grave?" challenged Obi-Wan.

"The same thing I did."

"And that is why it was wrong for you to follow me."

"You're just like the rest of them," said Qui-Gon. "Blast you all, you stupid, selfish monks. You act as if giving up when living gets tough is honorable. I may have rough edges and few scruples and very little finesse, but at least I know that when something goes wrong you keep soldiering on. Choosing to die is no choice at all."

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't."

The whistle of the kettle forestalled any more conversation and Obi-Wan watched as the prince brewed the tea with sharp efficiency. He thought about getting up, but his limbs felt water-weak, so he lay still and let Qui-Gon make tea for him, watching the prince pour steaming water and lash the sugar into the tea before bringing it.

The prince had to slide an arm behind his shoulders and prop him up, which embarrassed him badly, but the warmth of the arm and the tea both felt good. He shut his eyes, letting the warm sweet fluid trickle down his throat, glowing richly in his belly. He could feel the sugar beginning to work its way out into his starved body, his head swimming a little with weariness. It would be days before he was strong enough to ride. Prince Qui-Gon would either have to wait or go without him.

He finished the last swallow, swimming in warmth and weariness, his lashes heavy.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice seemed to drift from far away.

"Hmm?" He felt the softness of the bed against his back, the linen of the pillow rough beneath his cheek.

"Why the penance?" Qui-Gon sounded troubled, but he was drifting. "Did you truly want to die?"

Dreams had him, and he was floating; his mouth would not answer his mind's call. Just as well. Obi-Wan surrendered to the tide of sleep, knowing that this time he would wake well, safe, and warm.


	47. Chapter 47

Qui-Gon watched as his bodyguard's face grew lax, smoothing out in sleep until he could have been made of wax but for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was disturbed by their conversation, brief though it had been. These monks seemed to hold little value on life, especially their own. Qui-Gon himself loved life, perhaps with a little too much vigor, but when death finally arrived for him, he would not feel cheated, his life unlived.

Not that he didn't have regrets, but what good did it do to wallow in them?

The ideal they seemed to hold themselves up to; the calm, serene perfection. It was inhuman. He supposed he would never have an answer out of Obi-Wan for his question, but he was not a foolish man. He should be able to figure things out for himself. Mundi had mentioned penance. What was there for Obi-Wan to feel penitent for? For allowing Qui- Gon to be injured, perhaps, but surely that was no call for suicide. Shmi and Anakin's near escape were not adequate explanations either. Obi-Wan had no formal responsibility for them.

It had to be the vow of chastity. Obi-Wan was a young man, healthy and in his prime-- Qui-Gon's inconsiderate and even deliberately cruel sexual antics had probably roused the boy's lust. Religious fanatics, no matter what sect, rarely seemed able to cope with the needs of the body. Disproportionate levels of guilt, punishment of disobedient flesh... his mouth set hard.

He did not understand the compulsion to deny the body, and suspected he never would. But if Obi-Wan was determined to remain chaste to satisfy the demands of his order, it was churlish of Qui-Gon to torment him and taunt him with what he could not have. Not to mention foolish on his own part to continue to desire the boy; Obi-Wan had nearly killed himself doing penance, he was hardly going to turn around and rescind the vow now just because Qui-Gon wished it.

There had been moments during Obi-Wan's tenure as his bodyguard when the two of them had enjoyed each other's company. Obi-Wan was good for him, he could admit that; and it wouldn't hurt the boy any to continue to get a glimpse of the real world in which Qui-Gon walked. It would be a good match, even if he would have to continue to find solace for his body's needs elsewhere.

He had to have faith that Kenobi's return from his self- imposed penance indicated a willingness to return with Qui- Gon to the Jinn Court. If that was not the case, then Qui- Gon's task was clear -convince the monk that his mission was not yet complete, that he could not abandon Qui-Gon now.

A soft knock interrupted his contemplation. "Come," he called out imperiously. It made him smile to realize that his voice did not disturb Kenobi's sleep.

Shmi's worn hands landed on his shoulders. "How is he?" she asked softly.

"He'll live."

She gently squeezed his shoulders. "Will he return with us?"

"I will not leave until he does."

Shmi stood quietly for a few minutes, her dark eyes thoughtful. "I have never heard you speak so of another." Her fingers trailed lightly over his upper arms.

Qui-Gon drew a slow breath. "Perhaps not." He looked up at her, suddenly ashamed. "I am sorry, Shmi, for all that I have not been to you."

"You have always belonged to the Kingdom. And you have given me the greatest gift my life has ever known: Anakin." Her smile forgave him even as it cheered him. "I would not ask for more. When you bought me and brought me to live in the Jinn Palace... then freed me and gave me a son... then gave my son your name..." this time her worn face broke into a truly beautiful smile.

Qui-Gon lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into its palm, feeling tears sting at the corners of his eyes. "And you have given me great gifts as well. Our son, your love and support..." He stroked her slim arm through the rough homespun of her sleeve. "I have always cherished you, and always will."

"Love him well, my Prince." She bent and laid a kiss on the side of his temple.

"As much as he will allow," Qui-Gon muttered gruffly, a little embarrassed.

"Have faith. And patience."

Another knock interrupted them and Shmi went to the door, stepping aside to allow Pater Mundi entrance.

"How is he?" asked the monk and Qui-Gon exchanged an amused glance with Shmi before she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

"I didn't think you cared." Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest and remained seated.

A single eyebrow rose, but otherwise, Mundi's face remained as much a wax statue as Kenobi's pale countenance.

"Just because we do not choose to go charging about, yelling and shouting to the winds, does not mean we are heartless."

"The life you choose is not life at all, it is a half-life, you live as if you were ghosts, leaving nary a mark on the world around you," accused Qui-Gon. Mundi's smile surprised him.

"You say that like it is a bad thing instead of something to be aspired to."

"I cannot imagine living like that."

"And as Prince you should not. You will one day be King-- by definition you will create the history it is our order's duty to record. We do not work against each other, your majesty, but in tandem."

"And him," said Qui-Gon, nodding toward Kenobi. "What role does he play?"

"That is for Obi-Wan to discover; he must find his own path. No amount of rhetoric or shouting will change that. All we can do is support or hinder his efforts."

"And you believe I have been hindering them." The implicit accusation stung; perhaps more so because he had come to the very same conclusion himself earlier.

"Not at all," Mundi said, surprising him again. "He cannot find his path own path if he is not aware that the one he is on is not the only one. Before the mission to your court, Obi-Wan held a very narrow view of the world and his place in it. Growth can be painful, but without it one withers and dies. I see you're surprised to hear me speak thus." Mundi's smile had grown. "Good. I like to think that we might have a thing or two to teach the world as well."

Qui-Gon abruptly realized that he'd forgotten to dress after rising; he'd been in such a hurry to give Obi-Wan his tea that he hadn't even thrown a tunic over his shoulders. Only the corner of a blanket lay over his lap. He flushed, meeting Mundi's eyes with dignity. The coal fire had made the room so warm that he hadn't even noticed the lack. "My bodyguard's well-being comes before my vanity," he commented quietly, and rose to dress calmly. "I regret if I have violated a modesty taboo."

"On the contrary. Your priorities in this matter please me." Mundi politely averted his eyes to Obi-Wan while Qui- Gon pulled on his tunic and trousers.

"I plan to leave the monastery with Shmi and my son as soon as possible. When do you think Obi-Wan will be well enough to travel?"

Mundi returned his gaze to Qui-Gon's face again, still maintaining his maddening mild demeanor. "Perhaps you should discuss that decision with him before discussing it with me."

Qui-Gon stiffened at the rebuke; every step forward with this man pressaged two steps back. As it so often had with Obi-Wan himself in the past few weeks. "Of course," he replied, resolving again to be more considerate of his bodyguard's beliefs, indeed, the boy's way of life.

"I would appreciate it if you would let me know should there be a change in Obi-Wan's condition and in the meantime, if there is anything you or your party needs, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you." Qui-Gon dearly wished he had been able to make the words sound like as much as a dismissal as Pater Mundi had. He prayed that Obi-Wan recovered quickly; he did not relish spending too many nights under this roof.


	48. Chapter 48

Prince Qui-Gon's prayers were answered, at least in part. Before night fell, Obi-Wan awoke again, and this time he seemed much recovered.

Qui-Gon bustled about, heating the thick vegetable soup that Shmi had brought from the kitchens to his room, and helped Obi-Wan sit up and eat. The lad kept his lap covered self-consciously with the bedcovers. Qui-Gon assumed that the return of his modesty indicated a return of strength; he must be feeling far better.

Obi-Wan ate three bowls of soup before he stopped, his lithe belly noticeably taut and full. Qui-Gon smiled, feeling tenderness swell in his throat. Kenobi avoided his eyes, folding his hands in the bedcovers.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, I would like to have my clothes returned now." Obi-Wan's cheeks were slightly flushed with embarrassment.

"Why?" Qui-Gon took the bowl and set it away to be cleaned later. "You don't need to go anywhere, and the blankets should be enough to keep you warm." Indeed, the room was quite toasty.

"I want to return to my own cell."

Qui-Gon stiffened, confused and hurt. "It's more comfortable here, surely. And there's no need to worry... I've had a second cot brought. You'll sleep on your own."

"That was kind of you, but I would be more comfortable in my own cell." Obi-Wan responded obstinately. His gray eyes flickered up to Qui-Gon's face for a moment, judging his expression, then back down to his folded hands.

"You've hardly recovered--"

"I will walk through the corridors naked if I must."

"You don't have to go that far," Qui-Gon told him grudgingly. "I will send someone for your uniform." And in the meantime he could work to convince the boy he'd be happier staying where he was. Where Qui-Gon could keep an eye on him and make sure the boy didn't try to get back up that stupid mountain.

"What happened to the one I was wearing?" Qui-Gon stiffened at the note of suspicion in the monk's voice, but continued to the door.

"Find Kenobi some clothing," he ordered Tarpals. His guard had taken to the habit of taking turns standing guard at his door.

Tarpals saluted smartly and said "Yes, sir."

Turning back to Kenobi, Qui-Gon let the door close behind him, once again sealing the two of them in. "They had to be removed so you could be warmed. I hope they went into the fire, but who knows what your brothers have done with them."

"Nothing so wasteful I would imagine," replied Obi-Wan softly. "Even if they are unwearable, there are plenty of uses for fine cotton."

"Fine? It's as coarse as a bramble patch."

Obi-Wan said nothing, though his silence spoke volumes.

"If we were at the castle I would have you lying amid the best silks and the warmest wools. You would want for nothing in your recovery."

"The only thing I want is to return to my cell where I may make my recovery on my own."

"Yes, I understand that." Qui-Gon answered impatiently. He forced himself t to do so." Qui-Gon hesitated. He'd offered promises and apologies before; why should the young monk believe him now?

"I am a willful, stubborn man. Perhaps my tutor Depa was right when she said my head was thick of bone and not of brain." Qui-Gon shook his head with frustration. "I have not even been allowed to carry my sword within these walls, and have nothing to swear on." He got up, pacing with agitation. "Nonetheless, I swear to you that I will not ill-treat you again."

Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan's calm, judging gaze with a penitent one of his own. "I understand now why you refused me. Perhaps if you had told me of your vow, I might have acted differently, but that is no apology or reassurance to you, I know." He moved to the bedside. "Come back to the castle and stay by my side, and I will respect your vows and your ways to the utmost of my ability. I cannot promise never to stumble. But I promise to try, and to learn from my errors."

"I will give you my answer in three days," repeated Obi- Wan.

"I wish you would stay and let me care for you. It is the least I could do considering all that you have done for me and the unkind payment I meted out in return."

Qui-Gon noted the flash of anger that appeared in Obi-Wan's eyes before the boy controlled himself. "I have already told you that I wish to return to my cell. It is well and good for you to say that you would have acted differently if you had known of my vow, but my refusal should have been enough. You have always had your own way and cannot fathom being refused. Even now as you profess being changed you attempt to circumvent my protests and have me stay with you rather than return to my cell."

"I will endeavor to do better." Qui-Gon threw himself into his chair and regarded Obi-Wan from beneath lowered lids. The boy was really quite lovely, even in illness; two spots of color rode high on his pale, ghostly white cheekbones, and the silly haircut was beginning to grow on the prince.

The soft pink tongue came out to lick at pale red lips and then Obi-Wan raised his ever-changing eyes to Qui-Gon's face. "You have a lifetime of getting your own way to overcome. I will allow that you are making the attempt. Thank you."

Any comment on Qui-Gon's part was forestalled by a knock at the door. "Come," Qui-Gon called and turned to watch Tarpals escort in a young monk bearing clothing for Obi- Wan.

Qui-Gon took the garments and closed the door again before laying the clothes next to Obi-Wan. Without a word he turned his chair to face the fire and sat in it, giving the monk his privacy.


	49. Chapter 49

Qui-Gon could hear Obi-Wan moving about behind him and the sound of cotton moving over skin. It seemed to be taking an innordinate amount of time for Kenobi to get dressed, but finally the boy cleared his throat. "I'm ready now, thank you," Obi-Wan said softly.

Qui-Gon turned and had to bite his lip from making one last attempt at getting his bodyguard to stay where he was; Obi- Wan was paler than ever, if that were possible, and though Qui-Gon might have imagined it, he thought he saw the boy sway slightly. "Will you allow me at least to carry you back to your cell?" he asked gently, not wanting to pierce the air of quiet dignity that surrounded Obi-Wan.

"I can make it on my own." The boy's chin lifted and determination shone in the changeable eyes.

"I'm sure you can," agreed Qui-Gon. "I was rather hoping to avoid adding several days onto your recovery time."

"I am feeling quite strong. Your ministrations have been quite effective." Obi-Wan's eyes met his, serious and clear. "Thank you for saving my life."

Qui-Gon could feel his own eyes widen in surprise, but he recovered enough to acknowledge the quiet thanks. "We are in each other's debt."

The moment hung quietly between them and Qui-Gon was loath to move from it, enjoying the rare serenity between them, but then Obi-Wan did sway slightly. Qui-Gon strode to the door, eager to be on their way as he was filled with determination to see that Kenobi made it to his cell under his own power.

They made it out into the hall and started through the corridors, Panaka's men trailing them quietly... but far from unobtrusively. Not many people traveled in the halls with battle-scarred veteran soldiers as escorts, after all. Obi-Wan directed them through the maze, moving slowly but without assistance, his face growing paler as they proceeded. Qui-Gon was relieved when the young monk half- turned, his hand settling onto a rope doorknob.

He hung onto the bit of rope furtively as he turned his face to Qui-Gon. "Thank you." Obi-Wan's voice sounded weary. "You can find your way back?"

Qui-Gon reassured him, though in truth he wasn't certain of that at all. Every inch of cold stone corridor and rough- hewn wooden door looked alike to him.

"I will rest now." With dignity, Obi-Wan pushed the door inward, his slim hand resting on it as he moved through and closed it behind him.

Qui-Gon stood for a moment, feeling exhaustion and tension in his own body now that Obi-Wan was no longer before him to occupy the majority of his concern. At length he turned to his men, who stood impassively awaiting orders. "Well?" He asked sharply. "Does anyone remember how to get us back where we started?"

Nervous, sheepish glances were exchanged. Shaking his head with disgust, Qui-Gon started stalking back the way they had come, resolving to ask for directions only if he must.

After disagreements over direction at the next four corridor junctions, Qui-Gon was forced to admit they were hopelessly lost. He only hoped their hosts wouldn't take offense if he blundered in somewhere he didn't belong-- with his luck, it would be the female initiates' bathing area.

With typical chance, now that he'd admitted, if only to himself, that they were indeed lost, there wasn't another soul to be found. Only moments before the corridor had been teeming with people, monks and initiates alike coming and going busily through the hallways. Now the place was silent and deserted, the doors that lined this hallway closed, shutting him out.

He felt suddenly very cold; he'd known he didn't belong here in this pristine and ordered world, but lost among the stone hallways, that fact was more apparent than ever. He glanced back at his honor guard, the three men obviously pretending not to notice just how lost they were. He decided to go to the end of this corridor and turn right at the juncture he could see; maybe they would run into someone and he could ask them for assistance. If not, he was going to have to start knocking on doors.

He was barely at the end of the hallway when a small tow- headed form came barreling around the corner and into his legs. Qui-Gon reached down to steady the boy, surprise filling him when he realized it was Anakin.

"Sorry, Father. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"You seem to be quite at home here," said Qui-Gon, eyeing his son's white leggings and tunic -the uniform worn by the youngest initiates.

"There hasn't been much to do, so I've been 'sploring and stuff," said Anakin apologetically.

"I don't suppose you know how to get back to our rooms from here, do you?"

"Of course I do! Wanna see?"

"Certainly," replied Qui-Gon, falling into step beside his son. Anakin's hand slipped into his own and the boy skipped along, making up in speed what his short legs lacked in distance. "Is there a reason you're wearing that uniform?" Qui-Gon asked casually.

"My clothes were dirty and we left the manor so quickly we didn't get to bring anything with us, so I only got that one outfit. These are pretty comfy for playing in. Mom sure looks funny in pants though."

Qui-Gon realized that their arrival at the Temple had been anticipated for both Shmi and Anakin to have been dressed in their regular clothes. He wondered briefly if these monks had such accurate powers of foresight before remembering Obi-Wan telling them they had been observed long before they had arrived.

It was hard to imagine these quiet and peaceful monks defending their walls from attack, and yet he had seen Obi- Wan in the midst of battle, had fought, and lost, one on one against him. He realized that even now, having seen Obi-Wan here among his fellows, the boy didn't seem to belong here. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

"Don't grow too comfortable here, lad. We'll be leaving soon," Qui-Gon told him, thinking wistfully of the luxury of his castle rooms and the fine food from his own kitchens.

Anakin flashed him a look of dismay. "But I've made friends!"

"I'm sorry, Anakin." Qui-Gon tousled the blond head. "You have friends as the castle as well."

"They all treat me funny." Anakin scowled. "Here, I feel like I belong. Nobody thinks I'm different because..." he fell silent, but Qui-Gon could hear the final statement anyway, as clearly as though it had been shouted aloud.

"Anakin..." he hesitated, feeling pain swell in his chest. "You are different, my son. One day you will be King."

Anakin looked sulky, his lower lip sticking out. "I'm not a king! I'm a person!"

"Most kings are," Qui-Gon told him softly. "But the state rarely permits you to be just a person." He was a fine one to talk, spending his time doing exactly as he pleased. Qui-Gon sighed.

Anakin didn't respond, his brow drawn low with unhappiness. Qui-Gon followed the boy's considerably less exuberant lead until Anakin stopped; blinking, Qui-Gon realized they must be in front of his quarters... the room had an actual doorknob.

"Thank you for your help, Anakin." Qui-Gon turned to his guards. "Tarpals, I want you to go and guard Obi-Wan's door. Make sure he rests, and that he is fed and kept warm. I want no harm to come to him. Anakin should be happy to lead you back."

Anakin perked up suddenly. "Can I go and watch after Obi- Wan?" He beamed, bright as the sun again. "I like talking with him."

Qui-Gon considered. It would be a discreet way to have a watcher right in Kenobi's room. "You will need to watch him carefully. He was very ill and nearly died. He will need rest and sleep, not idle chatter."

"I'll stay with him and make sure he rests and eats," Anakin nodded earnestly. "Mom will see that the kitchens send him a special dinner."

"Very well, Anakin. When you need to leave, find Tarpals and he will send a guard to replace you at Obi-Wan's door." Qui-Gon smiled, contented with the situation and relieved by Anakin's restored good spirits. Perhaps things were going to turn out well after all.


	50. Chapter 50

Qui-Gon punched his pillow and rearranged his covers once again. He didn't understand what these monks had against basic comforts-- surely one was better prepared to serve if well rested?

The fact that his bed was probably considerably more comfortable than those of the monks themselves, did little to relieve him. No wonder Obi-Wan had been happy with the simple pallet on the floor -it would have still been softer than what he was used to.

Despite his tiredness Qui-Gon was having trouble getting to sleep and it wasn't just the state of the bed, though he forcefully cleared his mind and tried to get his thoughts to die down. He'd almost managed when he heard the door open and close and soft footsteps approach his bedside. His eyes widened with surprise as he looked up and found Obi-Wan standing next to the bed, hands already working to remove his clothing.

"What are you--" the boy's hand pressed over his mouth, cutting off his words.

"Sh. This isn't the time for talking," Obi-Wan said. He removed his hand slowly and Qui-Gon remained quiet, watching as Kenobi continued to take off his clothes. He was mesmerized by the slender yet capable hands as they undid catches and ties and slid material from skin. He could still feel the imprint of Obi-Wan's hand against his lips, warm and soft.

He didn't understand what the monk was doing; aside from the obvious, there remained the question of what Obi-Wan would do once he was naked and why he was doing it. Kenobi, it appeared, was not going to enlighten him. Obi-Wan let his leggings drop to the ground and stood for a moment, a statue of marble in the moonlight.

Qui-Gon watched, fascinated and hopeful, as the boy leaned forward and pulled back his covers, sliding into the bed without a word. Hissing as the compact body settled on his own, Qui-Gon let his arms automatically come up to circle Obi-Wan's back, holding him.

This was a shocking, unexpected windfall. Whatever his conscience dictated, his body was extremely reluctant to pass up the opportunity. His penis hardened with painful enthusiasm, and Qui-Gon moaned, bucking up. No matter how hard he thrust, it wasn't enough: maddening.

Obi-Wan's glowing eyes stared down at him, hot and seductive. The tempting braid tickled at his cheek. Sweat began to break out all over Qui-Gon, dampening his body. He heard himself moan softly.

"Obi-Wan." A plea in his voice, lust and yearning and joy. He slipped his arms around the slender back, pressing the lad's smooth chest close. So good. So exquisitely right. Obi-Wan's mouth melted hot against his, just as sweet and wonderful as memory whispered. Qui-Gon opened to it, feeling his helplessness in the face of the determined assault.

Yes. Yes. Anything Obi-Wan wanted. Everything.

It seemed Obi-Wan wanted everything, and possibly more. His sword-callused palms swept over Qui-Gon hungrily, stroking along sides and flanks, teasing as they avoided his needy shaft.

"Please," Qui-Gon panted, aroused beyond bearing, needing more of Obi-Wan's delicate touch. Shockingly skillful-- where had he learned such things? Qui-Gon would have expected him to be tentative, even clumsy-- but such thoughts were driven out of his head as Obi-Wan moved down his body, tongue tickling at his navel and then tracing lower.

He arched his hips, wanting that sweet tongue on his shaft, that hot breath to mingle with the heat of his need, but Obi-Wan only teased him, light, barely there licks that left him gasping and trembling for more. His legs were pushed apart and up until he grabbed them, holding himself open. He gave a shocked yell as Obi-Wan's tongue found his opening and drove its way inside. The motion was repeated until he was writhing and whimpering, riding the lad's tongue with abandon. Nearly sobbing with need, he begged Obi-Wan for more, begged to be ground beneath the supple body.

Obi-Wan rose over him, aligning their shafts, and pumped them quickly, several long strokes. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to yell, but no sound came out, his breath stolen entirely by the shock of feeling that coursed through him. It felt incredible, that Obi-Wan could be so certain and so aggressive, taking what he wanted from Qui-Gon, giving insane amounts of pleasure in return.

Qui-Gon panted, sweat dripping from his forehead-- he hadn't let anyone do this to him since he was a far younger man, but he wanted Obi-Wan, needed to feel the boy's possession. Needed the reassurance that Obi-Wan loved him, wanted him, and would not leave him.

He lifted his knees, mutely begging to be penetrated, and Obi-Wan looked up, meeting his gaze with a delightful expression of pure, wicked pleasure, then bit the inside of his thigh lightly and pulled back enough to hook Qui-Gon's legs over his shoulders.

Qui-Gon clenched his fingers in the rough cotton bedding, trying not to whimper with anticipation. So good, so sweet-and then Kenobi was in him, so easy-- too easy. Qui- Gon wanted to feel it, hard, so he linked his ankles behind Kenobi's back and drove himself onto the hot spike of the lad's erection.

He cried out, a strangled guttural howl from the deepest core of himself. Hot as the blade of his one-time assailant, sweet as his little monk's kisses, a pure and powerful wave of sensation rolled past pleasure and left him soaring. "Yes. Yours!" he gasped, wishing he could taste the sheen of sweat on Kenobi's forehead.

As if reading his thoughts Obi-Wan leaned forward, forcing his legs back, his knees nearly to his ears. It changed the angle of penetration, the thrusts sliding deeper, moving over his prostate with delirious accuracy. Another kiss of liquid fire filled his mouth and then he had his chance, swiping his tongue across the lad's forehead. The taste of Obi-Wan filled him, slaked his thirst as if it were the waters of the purest mountain lake; his mountain monk, pure and true.

Obi-Wan continued to ride him hard, pushing deeply into Qui- Gon's body, each thrust following the last with increasing speed. The boy grinned down at him, moving faster still, thrusting harder, he was an animal, hungry and ferocious. Qui-Gon's head thrashed from side to side. Close, he was so close.

His mouth was covered once more, this kiss taken from him by force, stolen from him as if it were the greatest treasure he had to offer. He let it go eagerly, offering up another and then another to the thief of his heart. Obi-Wan pressed a final swipe of tongue across his mouth and then Qui-Gon heard him speak in a voice that sent a shiver down his spine into his passage.

"Come for me, my sweet prince, come on my cock."

The last word was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, but he was too close and came anyway, hot fluid jerking from his shaft almost painfully. His eyes flew open even as he was still shuddering from his orgasm, to find himself quite alone, one hand wrapped around his penis, the other three fingers knuckles deep inside his body.

A dream. It had been nothing more than the overheated workings of his brain while he slept.

He cleaned himself up miserably, suffering the loss of what he'd briefly believed to be Obi-Wan. Guilt gnawed at the edges of his mind for having disrespected Obi-Wan's vows so badly. Even inside the privacy of his own mind, it was a violation.

He would have to discipline himself better, learn control. It would not do for him to repeat such a performance with Obi-Wan sleeping only a few feet from his bed-- what if he moaned the lad's name aloud? That thought made him wince with shame, and it drove the vestiges of sleep from his mind, leaving him staring up into the flickering firelight shadows of the ceiling until morning dawned.


	51. Chapter 51

Obi-Wan blinked open his eyes, groaning as the light of day hit him. His head throbbed dully and his bones seemed to ache; residue no doubt of a fever. Certainly that would explain the restless, elusive dreams that had haunted his night. He felt as weak as a kitten-- victim of his own stubborn insistence he return to his own cell. But having woken up, naked, in the prince's arms, he'd felt the need to re-establish some boundaries. Not only for the prince's sake.

The prince had gone along with his requests with surprising grace. Perhaps the man was finally changing-- he at least was making an effort. Obi-Wan knew that he would be returning with the prince regardless of whether the change was sincere or not. His place was at the prince's side until he was no longer needed, and he didn't need to meditate on the situation to know that he still was.

Some perverse instinct had insisted that he wait to tell the prince of his decision. Let Qui-Gon sweat and worry what his answer would be; the man had been denied nothing his entire life, and indulgence had many detrimental effects. At the same time, he felt as though he were being less than honest, betraying his upbringing and the codes he had lived by all his life.

Obi-Wan sighed, tugging at his braid and wondering if he were still worthy to wear it. Probably, or Pater Mundi would have had it shorn from him.

He stirred, thirsty, and was startled at movement from across the room... Anakin. Qui-Gon's son jumped up out of the cell's single straight chair.

"You're awake!" Anakin chirped, obviously pleased. "You were asleep when I got here last night. You want something to eat, maybe some water?"

Obi-Wan nodded and Anakin poked his head out the door, calling to someone for breakfast to be sent. The lad's exuberant energy made Obi-Wan feel sluggish by comparison, but he was glad of the boy's presence.

Within minutes, there was cool fresh water for him to drink, and Anakin helped him sit up so he could swallow it without spilling. It hit the parched tissues of his throat like a blessing, trickling sweetly into his belly. "Not too much. I drank too much once when I was hot, and I got sick." Anakin took the glass and pulled the chair up next to Obi- Wan's bed. "My father said you nearly died."

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, trying to keep up with the boy's chatter. "Thank you," he said, "and yes, I nearly died." He shifted until he was sitting back against the wall, the cool stone a balm against his still overheated skin.

"Why were you out there?" Anakin asked him, bright blue eyes looking at him guilelessly.

"It's a little hard to explain," began Obi-Wan.

"Father said something about pena...penants?"

"Penance. Yes, well. Right."

"I heard a couple of the monks talking in the library and they said that whatever you'd done it must have been pretty bad if you went out into the snow to do the penance. Is that true? Did you do something bad?" The boy sounded as if he couldn't quite believe it were possible and Obi-Wan smiled softly.

"There are a lot of rules," he explained slowly, "and promises that we make when we get here and I came very close to breaking those promises."

"If you did break 'em would they make you leave?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "They wouldn't have to. If I broke my vows I would leave of my own accord."

"Oh." Anakin watched him for a moment or two and then announced, "I like it here."

It was a common enough reaction; many children seemed to think the notion of becoming a monk was a romantic one. "Why?" Obi-Wan questioned calmly.

"I like the novitiates."

Obi-Wan tilted his head, waiting for more. Anakin gave him another few sips of water before continuing, obviously thinking about his answer. "I told my father I liked them because they didn't treat me differently because I'm his son. It didn't make him happy."

Obi-Wan nodded gravely. "As children, we are trained not to distinguish between persons by rank, but rather by their character and strength."

Anakin nodded enthusiastically. "I like that. They're not afraid of me, and they don't try to be extra nice because they want something."

"It is a good reason to like it here, but not an adequate reason to stay. Do you have more reasons?"

"Well, I've seen you fight. You're the only person I know who can beat my father. Well, except for that man who cut him on Valorum's estate. But you beat him." Anakin looked shy. "I'd like to learn to fight like you."

"Many of the monks here fight well, it is true. But that is not the only reason we exist." They paused as a brother brought a tray filled with porridge to the room and left it. Anakin seasoned it with cinnamon, sweet butter, and dried fruits, and helped Obi-Wan begin to eat, a spoonful at a time.

"Yeah. You keep records and histories, and study politics... the same kinds of stuff I do with my tutor, I guess, but somehow..." Anakin sneaked a bite of Obi-Wan's porridge, then wiped his chin. "It's more fun here. I don't like my tutor much. Beru's nice, but she treats me different, too. Here, if I don't learn, I don't just get a talking to. I have to do stuff to make up for it."

"Like penance." Obi-Wan smiled faintly.

"I like doing stuff." Anakin sounded a little defensive. "I can't take care of horses or fix stuff at the castle, because I'm 'the little prince' and 'it isn't seemly' and things like that."

"So you don't want to be a monk," Obi-Wan observed thoughtfully. "You'd just like to stay here, and learn what we have to teach you?"

"I guess so. I mean if I wanted to be a monk, I would know, right? I'd have a ..."

"Calling," Obi-Wan supplied.

"Yeah, that's what Brother Mandrell called it."

"You've spoken to someone about this already?" Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon knew and what the prince had said about it.

"I was just asking stuff." The boy's shoulders hunched and he pouted. Obi-Wan was reminded of the prince -he'd seen the exact same expression on Qui-Gon's face on more than one occasion. "Some of the kids in my classes aren't going to be monks, they just come here to learn." Anakin was looking up at him again. "But I don't think my father would let me do that -he's in a pretty big hurry to leave and I don't think he likes it here much."

"Have you asked him?" Obi-Wan could well imagine the prince's reaction to such a question from his only son and heir.

"Not exactly, but he still said no. I was hoping..."

"Yes, Anakin?"

"I was hoping you could talk to him, tell him I'd be safe and make him understand that it would be a good thing."

"What makes you think I have that kind of influence with your father?"

"Because he listens to you." The boy was perched on the edge of his seat now, waving around an oatmeal filled spoon earnestly.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "About matters relating to his own safety and with great reluctance. This would be another matter entirely."

"You could tell him you won't go back with him unless I get to stay."

"Anakin."

"Well, I'm just saying that because he does listen to you, and he wants you around." The boy had the good grace to look ashamed.

"I will speak to Prince Qui-Gon, and further, if he permits, I will sponsor your presence here." Obi-Wan looked longingly at the spoonful of cooling oatmeal. "Now, may we finish breakfast?"

"Oops! Sorry." Sheepishly, Anakin resumed feeding Obi-Wan. "Thanks for agreeing to talk to him," he finished shyly. "Sometimes he can be kind of hard to get through to."

"I know precisely what you mean." Obi-Wan nodded, already planning the strategy for his attempt.


	52. Chapter 52

Obi-Wan's breakfast did a great deal to revitalize him, and he felt well enough to read a scroll as he lay there. Anakin had apparently kept watch most of the night, so Obi- Wan gave the tired lad a blanket and he curled up on the floor at the foot of Obi-Wan's cot. He was snoring within minutes, and Obi-Wan smiled at the soft sound, adjusting his scroll. He had just become absorbed with the matriarchal ruling practices of the Kashyyk Collective on the southern continent when a soft tap sounded at his door.

"Come in," Obi-Wan called, equally softly, hoping not to disturb Anakin. Perhaps it was the prince, come to check on him-- but no, his spirits wavered guiltily when he realized his guest's identity.

"Master Lucas," he breathed, shame suffusing his cheeks with red.

Worn hands with thick fingers callused from holding a quill lifted to push back the coarse-woven brown hood of his cloak. "Obi-Wan." His mild voice sounded fond, not disappointed at all. "I'm glad you returned to visit us."

Obi-Wan nodded, shamefaced. His mentor looked just the same; a little pudgy from sitting long hours in his cell writing and copying scrolls, with his curling salt-and- pepper hair and short beard, he seemed ageless. Perhaps his squint was a little more pronounced; he never let long hours or poor light stop him in his work, and frequently needed to visit the healers to have eyestrain reduced.

"I..." Obi-Wan's shame grew as he realized he hadn't even consulted his master before setting out to brave penance on the mountain. "I should have come to you sooner."

"I admit I was a little disappointed, though I can't say I was surprised." Brother Lucas sat in the chair Anakin had vacated and patted Obi-Wan's hand. "You always did expect perfection from yourself, my boy."

"I'm afraid it's a little more than not being perfect this time, Master. I nearly broke my vows." Obi-Wan felt the weight of his burdens lift as he shared them with his mentor and teacher and realized that he should indeed have visited the monk first.

"Failure is failure, Obi-Wan, whether you feel a pinch of envy or break one of your vows."

"Surely one is a bigger failure than the other?"

"I would say it is more a case of it being harder to recover from the one than the other. Our actions shape us, as do our feelings and desires."

Obi-Wan felt his face flame again. "I have desires," he admitted softly. "Inappropriate feelings as well."

"For the prince?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"I understand that he is a very handsome and compelling man."

"And arrogant, and stubborn, and far too used to getting his own way."

"And yet you care for him still?"

Obi-Wan hung his head. "Yes, Master."

"Obi-Wan...." He looked up when his mentor didn't continue. It looked as if Master Lucas were struggling with something; several times he opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again. Finally the monk laid his hand on Obi-Wan's chest. "You must follow your heart, Obi- Wan. You must listen carefully, for it is far quieter than the pull of your body or the call of our teachings, but in the end it is only your heart that will lead you to your true path."

Obi-Wan struggled with the words, engraving them on his mind-- especially when they were painful or difficult, his master's teachings always proved fruitful. "Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan bowed his head.

"Whatever path you choose, I have faith that you will excel upon it," Lucas continued softly. "You have always pushed yourself to the limit of your abilities, and beyond. You will not stop that simply because you no longer have my guidance."

"Master..." Obi-Wan hesitated, fidgeting with a fold of sheet. "I may never become a Jedi Knight."

"If that is your destiny, then you must embrace it." Lucas responded quietly. "Use it wisely and well and don't let fate destroy you."

"But you have spent so much time and work in training me..."

"I have spent time and work in helping to make you a fine young man, whether he be padawan monk, Jedi Knight, or bodyguard and even courtesan," Lucas pointed out dryly. "Your knowledge and skills mean no less, should you continue to use them. The true failure lies in abandoning them out of guilt or a misplaced need to punish yourself for following what you want, not what others expect of you."

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. "But Master--"

"Don't take that tone with me, young man." Lucas folded his arms impatiently.

"You speak that word so easily... courtesan." Obi-Wan's voice fell to a shocked whisper. "Have you foreseen that is my destiny?"

"I have not." Lucas answered sharply. "But if I had, it would hardly matter. It is your destiny, and you are the one who must meet it. Not I." Lucas shook his head, sympathetic. "You have come back to us from the snows, Obi-Wan. Many do not. You are reborn, with a new life before you... and perhaps a new calling. Don't let fear close your mind and your heart."

It was the first time in his life that anyone had ever suggested that he might not become a Knight, that his destiny might lie outside of the monastery and its rules and teachings. If anyone else had spoken the words, Obi- Wan would have dismissed them summarily, but this was Brother Lucas, his mentor, his teacher-- the man he had called master for most of his life.

"I will try to keep an open mind," he said softly.

"I know you will, my boy." Lucas smiled and took his hand, squeezing, and Obi-Wan squeezed back. Speaking with his master had always left him feeling strong in both mind and heart, girded for the future and this time was no different, even though his master's words had been shocking.

He knew now that no matter what decision he came to, no matter the direction his life took, he would always have a friend and support in Brother Lucas.


	53. Chapter 53

The bundle at the foot of Obi-Wan's bed stirred and he looked down, smiling as Anakin's blue eyes blinked open. The boy sat up and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands.

"About time he wakened." Brother Lucas smiled. "Lads his age are always sleepy or hungry. Have you breakfasted?" He addressed Anakin directly.

"Some, sir," replied Anakin as he climbed onto the end of Obi-Wan's bed.

"But not enough, perhaps?" Brother Lucas smiled, and pulled some dried fruit wrapped in leather from a pouch at his waist. "Maybe this will hold you till the noon bell."

"Thanks!" Anakin's eyes brightened and he accepted the fruit, chewing eagerly.

"Anakin has spoken of an interest in staying here at the monastery," Obi-Wan told Lucas softly. "He would like to learn history and weapons. And the theory of governing, I think."

"I want to learn how to fight, like Obi-Wan!" Anakin interposed eagerly. "He's better than anybody."

"As Obi-Wan's training master, I am glad to hear that you think so." Brother Lucas kept a solemn face, but his eyes twinkled, and Obi-Wan could tell he'd taken a liking to the prince's son.

"I believe the lad would make a fine, apt pupil," Lucas commented, a quiet tone in his voice that was not lost on Obi-Wan. "If his father consented, of course."

"That is the problem," Obi-Wan agreed, and their attention was taken by a tap at his door.

"Come in," Obi-Wan called.

"Padawan Kenobi." Pater Mundi glided in. "It is good to see that you are so much improved."

"I'm still a little shaky." Obi-Wan felt sudden discomfort, remembering what Brother Lucas had told him, and his own feelings about it, in contrast to the firm purpose he had shown to Mundi. "Anakin, this is Pater Ki Adi Mundi, head of the Council for this cycle."

Anakin jumped up and gave Mundi a courtly bow, his blanket falling onto the floor. "An honor, Sir."

"He and his sire both have courtly manners at need," Mundi commented, not unkindly.

"It seems the lad has a yen to learn more than courtly manners and feels the monastery might be the place to learn them," commented Brother Lucas.

"Indeed." Mundi looked to Anakin for confirmation.

"Yes, sir," said Anakin. It was quite obvious from his demeanor he was trying to impress Pater Mundi with his seriousness. "I've been attending classes while we've been here and doing the out of class assignments and everything. I really like the novitiates -they don't treat me like I was different."

"As if I were different," Pater Mundi corrected absently.

"Yes, sir."

"And what does your father think of this idea?"

"I didn't exactly ask yet, but I don't think he likes it here very much and I think he might say no. But I told Obi- Wan that if he asked my father would listen." Anakin's eyes were wide and earnest as he looked at the three of them in turn.

Obi-Wan could feel color tingeing his cheeks, but he met Pater Mundi's eyes squarely. "I told Anakin that I would speak to him about it and that I would be happy to sponsor the boy if his father agreed."

"I think it would serve the land well to have a Jedi-taught king on the throne," suggested Brother Lucas.

Pater Mundi nodded his head. "Hopefully the prince will also see the wisdom in this course of action."

"Keeping in mind that he is not a monk and will never be, and that his loyalties are not and must not be made the same as yours," Obi-Wan heard himself say sternly. Brother Lucas nodded approval; Mundi just looked at him with hooded eyes.

"But of course," Mundi commented, silky-calm. Only then did Obi-Wan realize the import of his phrasing. 'Yours,' not 'ours.' He swallowed hard, but stood his ground.

At that very moment a third knock sounded on the door, not the light tap of the brothers. Obi-Wan blinked, knowing who had produced the sound. "Come in." Sith, he was not ready for this confrontation now. "Anakin, perhaps you should not--"

"Father!" Too late; the boy was already running across the floor to leap into Prince Qui-Gon's arms. "I've been talking to Obi-Wan, 'n Brother Lucas, 'n Pater Mundi, and I want to stay and learn to fight like Obi-Wan does, I want to learn everything he knows, it'll be so much better than at the castle, please, let me stay!" Words tumbled from his mouth in an excited rush.

Qui-Gon's eyes widened at Anakin, then lifted, turning cold and narrow, scanning the three men before him. "No." His voice was as chilly as his stare. "You belong at the castle, Anakin, and I'll not have you manipulated into staying behind here. You don't understand the sacrifices involved in becoming a monk--"

"But I don't wanna be a monk, I just want to learn, you don't have to take vows if you stay, Obi-Wan said so!" Anakin's full lips drew up into an ugly pout and he stepped back, folding his arms and sulking.

"Anakin," said Obi-Wan, before the situation could become any uglier than it was, "why don't you go see if they need any help in the kitchens. They'd probably be able to spare a nibble for your trouble."

"I don't want to go if you're going to talk about me."

"We aren't going to be talking about you," said Qui-Gon. "There's nothing to discuss-- you will be coming home with me."

"Will not! And you can't make me!" Shouted the boy before pushing past his father and running from the room.

"That little display should have convinced you of the boy's need for the structure and discipline," commented Pater Mundi.

Obi-Wan held back his gasp and watched as the prince's face grew red, his hands clenching into fists. "Perhaps you both could leave me alone to discuss this with the prince. I'm sure there are other matters that require your attention," suggested Obi-Wan softly.

"You could start by assuring him that Pater Mundi does not teach the classes in diplomacy," suggested Brother Lucas quietly to Obi-Wan as he patted the young monk's hand and stood to go. Pater Mundi looked as though he had more to say, but to Obi-Wan's relief, he followed Brother Lucas from the room. The prince watched them go, face no less thunderous.

"I'm sorry it was thrown at you like that," Obi-Wan began. "Anakin came to me speaking of his wish to stay here, and while we were speaking, Brothers Lucas and Pater Mundi arrived. I assure you, no manipulation occurred."

Qui-Gon simply glared at him, and Obi-Wan continued, nonplused by the prince's silence. "Did you know that Anakin is bored at the palace? He says there is very little he's allowed to do. That it isn't seemly for him to curry horses or fix things. That his tutors actively discourage him from making himself useful." Obi-Wan tried a smile. "Here, he'd be allowed to build character through undertaking reasonable labor. It would teach him valuable skills, humility, patience. And, if you will, discipline."

"All things that you could teach him at the Palace," Qui- Gon spoke, and much of the heat had left his voice. He approached Obi-Wan quietly. "Are you feeling better this morning?"

"I could not," Obi-Wan disagreed. "I must watch after you."

"Then you'll be coming with me-- with us?" Qui-Gon corrected himself, hope flickering on his grave, careworn face.

"That is not the issue at hand," Obi-Wan deflected.

"Then have Pater Mundi send another monk to court, one to teach Anakin." Qui-Gon recovered gracefully. "Any of the brothers would be welcome."

"Anakin can learn better here, where the libraries and the training masters reside. No one of us knows all that he needs. We specialize each in our different fields."

"Anakin is not staying." Qui-Gon's face stretched tight with resolve. "There are also teachers and libraries at court."

"Perhaps you will reconsider," suggested Obi-Wan, lifting his hand as the prince's mouth opened. "I will give you my answer in two days, I think that would be ample time for you to truly consider what would be best for Anakin and let him know then what you have decided."

"Are you making your own return with me conditional upon his staying here?" Qui-Gon's voice tightened with pain.

"Not at all." Obi-Wan shook his head for emphasis, remembering Anakin's assertion that if he insisted, the prince would do as he asked. "All I ask is that you give the matter some thought, some consideration. This is not a whim on your son's part."

He waited for the prince's answer, watching as various emotions flickered quickly behind the blue eyes. He could feel the tension in his own limbs and realized that this had become a test. If Qui-Gon truly meant to make an effort to understand and respect his bodyguard he would begin by being willing to examine this matter before making a final decision. He would at least make a show of listening to more than his own arguments and feelings.

Obi-Wan was startled to realize just how important it was to him that Qui-Gon make the right decision.


	54. Chapter 54

Qui-Gon glowered, his anger like a fist in his chest. These monks were filling his son's head with all sorts of notions and he was not only supposed to be happy about it, but was expected to leave him here and let them continue? He wouldn't have it! Anakin belonged at his side, the boy would be king one day and there was nothing these cloistered monks could teach him of the world that he couldn't learn with the tutors that had been hired.

Obi-Wan was looking at him so earnestly, the boy's eyes large in his pale face. Sighing, Qui-Gon thought that it wouldn't hurt to delay his answer; Obi-Wan didn't need to know that he had no intention of actually reconsidering. If it won him some regard in the young monk's eyes, well, he couldn't think of a better reason to make the concession of delaying his answer.

"Very well. I will give you and Anakin my final answer in two day's time."

Obi-Wan relaxed visibly at that and Qui-Gon frowned again. Was it really so important to the monk that Anakin take his lessons at the monastery?

Obi-Wan sank back against the pillows, apparently exhausted, wiping sweat from his brow with a hand that trembled just a little, and Qui-Gon pushed away the remnants of his anger, at least for the moment. "You're still weak," he stepped forward. "Let me help you."

He fluffed Obi-Wan's pillow and helped him drink some broth from the pot on the hearth of the cell's tiny fireplace. It was clearly left over from the previous evening, but it was warm with the fire's heat. "Better?" Qui-Gon sat at Obi- Wan's bedside, eyes never leaving the thin face. His struggle to maintain heat on the mountainside had burned away any softness he'd acquired in court, plus more.

"Much." Obi-Wan drank as Qui-Gon's hand steadied the metal cup. "I'm glad you aren't angry."

Lacking anything better, Qui-Gon wiped Obi-Wan's lips with the cloth of his cloak. "Oh, make no mistake. I'm very angry indeed. But your health is more important." He put the cup within Obi-Wan's reach on the small writing table beside the bed. "And it isn't just you that I'm angry with. You the least of all, I think."

Obi-Wan looked up at him with tired, cautious eyes. Qui-Gon just sat there, smothering words in his throat that he knew might separate him from his bodyguard irrevocably. The words that would tell Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon saw him as a senseless victim of the monks' cruel, cold beliefs. The words about why he did not want Anakin to be such a victim. His fundamental philosophical criticisms of the Jedi Order.

"You should really speak to Anakin about this," Obi-Wan told him, finally breaking the growing silence. "Find out from him why he wants to do this. I know you think that we put the idea in his head, but truly it came from him. Even if you decide not to let him come, it behooves you to find out why he wants to. Why he thinks he would get a better education here than at the castle."

"He doesn't want to be treated differently-- he thinks he can leave his duty as heir to ung monk sighed, slumping almost pathetically. "Whoever that is, I will depart with them and leave a guard to ensure that you are allowed to rest." Qui- Gon stood up briskly, glad to have a focus for his irritable energy.

He yanked the door open, only to come up sharp, stopped short by Shmi's angry face. "We have to talk," she snapped, and yanked him through the door by the tunic without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Stay and keep visitors from troubling Kenobi. He needs rest," Qui-Gon managed to bark at his escort before she towed him down the hall, easily as furious as he'd ever seen her. She stalked silently in the lead, fuming, and Qui-Gon felt chastened in spite of himself, resenting the feeling. He had a strong suspicion he knew what was coming, and he hadn't been prepared for it to come from this quarter.

Shmi ushered him into her quarters curtly and didn't give him time to sit down before slamming the door and rounding on him like a spitting cat. "Anakin is my son. I've spent years watching you play with him when it suited you, like a pet, and ignoring him when it didn't. I've come to your bed as it pleased you, and been glad of the privilege. The two of us have been always been pawns in your selfish life and It. Ends. Here!"

Qui-Gon blinked, resisting the urge to step away from her fury.

"I'm not having my son grow up spoiled to palace life, where he treats those who love him like whores and thinks it fine!" Her childhood accent grew thicker with her anger, what was usually a soft lilt cutting him like a knife. "You will let Anakin stay here, where he can learn to behave like the gentleman you ought to be... and be a better king for it!"

"Or else what?" Qui-Gon bellowed, finally finding space to insert a word. "Or you won't come to my bed any longer? As though you think that would trouble me!"

His ears rang, and it was a long moment before he understood that she'd slapped him.

"Now, banish me if you like, because I'm staying here, too!" Shmi hissed at him.

Qui-Gon's hand rose to his cheek, slowed by disbelief, and he watched her eyes fill with angry, remorseful tears. "I have never asked anything of you, but I will have this now, for the well-being of my son!" Shmi wrapped her arms around herself miserably.

"He's not your son! He's not my son! Anakin belongs to the kingdom!" Qui-Gon felt rage rising in him, out of control-- a strong desire to strike Shmi, to see her fall. It boiled in him blackly.

He lashed out with words instead. "What right have you to command me? You're nothing but a kitchen slut. You have no way of knowing the best way to raise a prince."

Shmi went white, her throat jumping visibly. "Do you know how many times I have cursed the day I first went to your bed?" Her low voice vibrated with anger. "Every time you took some new slut to it. Every time you took some pouting boy to it. Every time I have watched you look on your new bodyguard with lust, determined to destroy him in the service of your own prick!"

Qui-Gon turned from her, hands clenching to fists. If he had not, he would have struck her.

"Clearly whatever way you were raised was far from the best way to raise a prince!" She continued, her voice shaking, and Qui-Gon heard her fear, knew she'd read his eyes before he turned and seen herself in them, crumpled and broken on the floor.

"Silence." Qui-Gon's voice sounded like he'd swallowed shattered glass. "Silence, or I will..."

"You will what? Kill the mother of your son with your bare hands? Disown your heir? I would rather have either thing happen than live to see Anakin grow into your boots!" Shmi's voice rose to a shriek of pain and misery.

"Would you have me go and lie in the snows for penance, woman?" Qui-Gon rasped through gritted teeth. "Perhaps it would be best if I were no longer around to bring destruction on those I touch!"

She didn't answer, and Qui-Gon knew as well as anyone that silence implied assent.

"Sith take you," Qui-Gon spat. "Sith take you and be damned to you! I would have given you anything you asked for but this."

"I will have this." Shmi did not waver. "I will have this, or you will have to go to war with the Jedi to reclaim your son."

Qui-Gon jerked around to stare at her, shocked and hurt beyond believing.

"I am his mother, and Anakin is his own person. Very nearly a man. The monks respect his will, and when I make mine known to them, they will respect it as well."

"And there is no respect for the Jinn Throne?" Qui-Gon spat into the fireplace bitterly.

"You do not yet hold the Jinn Throne." Shmi looked at him, her eyes flinty.

Qui-Gon's fists clenched and unclenched, his mouth working silently with baffled rage. "It is a pity that Xanatos did not catch the two of you," he lashed out at last.

"I am unsurprised to find that, in the end, you care so little for your son." Her lips curled with contempt.

They stood staring at each other, but no words remained; all the savagery and pain that could exist seemed already to lie between them. "You are mistaken," Qui-Gon replied to her with what scant shreds of dignity remained to him. "And I did not mean that."

She shrugged, shrinking in on herself. "When you go, we will stay. And when Anakin is trained, he will return to you."

Qui-Gon bared his teeth in a grimace of pain. "With his spirit crushed and his soul warped with perverse guilt and self-denial!"

"You understand so little." Again the hard edge of her pain and contempt shone through in the glitter of her eyes. "Better that than the other." She paused, eyeing him coldly. "Get out of my rooms."

Qui-Gon stared at her, seeing years of love turned to hate seemingly in the blink of an eye-- again by his own foolish and unwitting cruelty, at least as much as by his refusal to let Anakin stay. For a moment he wavered, remorseful, but his pride rankled him savagely, like sharp spurs, and it would not permit apology. Not in the face of such insult.

The soft sound of her weeping followed him through the door.

There were monks gathered outside: councilors, their pale faces sweating. Mater Yaddle looked shaky on her feet, letting Pater Mundi steady her. "We have shielded the innocent from the darkness you and your party have brought within our walls." Pater Mundi's serenity seemed brittle. "If there are further incidents of this magnitude, you will be removed. Is this clear?"

Qui-Gon blinked, thinking suddenly of Obi-Wan's sensitivity and his unusual powers, wondering precisely how far they extended, if being near an argument could cause such distress in these normally unshakable master monks. He drew himself up, striving for the appearance of control. "I'm going outside for a walk," he stated flatly.

"Take any supplies you need and do not return until you are calm," Mundi directed sharply.

Qui-Gon turned on his heel without a word and left, feeling a keen understanding of Obi-Wan's need to retreat to the uncomplicated chill purity of the mountain snows.


	55. Chapter 55

Qui-Gon shouldered the small roll of provisions he'd managed to gather and set out up the mountain. Obi-Wan's tracks still remained, half-filled with snow, and he followed them listlessly, winding his way upward at a steady pace.

He found the place where Obi-Wan had fallen, then quite a long way further, the snowbank where he'd burrowed. Qui-Gon blinked, realizing that Kenobi had entirely buried himself in snow. No telling how long he'd stayed; it was a miracle he'd come back at all. He sat on a stone next to the drift that had very nearly served Obi-Wan Kenobi as an icy grave, and let the cold mountain air bathe his face.

He was terribly glad he hadn't hit Shmi. In spite of everything, he loved her. She wanted what she believed was best for Anakin. He'd mistreated her for years, taken her for granted-- earned her rage.

Obi-Wan had come here to do penance, in the depths of misery and guilt for transgressions of heart and flesh. Now Qui- Gon felt some obligation to do the same, but he scourged himself with shame rather than snow, fingering through his transgressions in his mind.

Each meaningless conquest and liaison. Each time he should have spent time with his son and Shmi, but had played at other amusements or sulked in petty boredom instead. Each time Shmi had perhaps needed understanding and support, but he'd been too self-absorbed to see.

Qui-Gon scooped up a double handful of snow, letting the chill bite at his fingers. And Obi-Wan. How he'd tormented the lad. Driven him here, nearly to his death. It was better after all that Anakin be raised away from his influence. A bitter thought indeed.

Qui-Gon's hands crushed the yielding snow into hard, compact wads, forcing most of it out through his fingers. "No more," he heard the words spoken aloud, realized he'd said them. A crow called harshly in the distance, seeming to echo his own unmelodious words.

"No more." A vow of his own, cut deep into his heart. No more the debauched fool, living a life better suited to some foolhardy youth. He was a man grown, a prince, soon to be king. "No more."

The silent stones his only witness, Qui-Gon stood, his hands wet with snow and his face wet with tears. He looked down at the monastery where the only things that truly mattered to him now resided, separated from him by his own pride and selfish folly. Smoke curled up thinly on the breeze, whispering of the comforts of hearth and home.

He let the handfuls of melting ice drop, shaking wetness from his hands, and opened his meager pack. He ate a few strips of dried meat, washing them down with mouthfuls of pristine, pure snow. After he finished, he tied his bundle back up and set off down the mountain, his heart sad but settled.

Pater Mundi awaited him at the rear entry through which he'd so recently carried Obi-Wan, watching him with quiet caution.

"I will go as soon as my party may be readied." Qui-Gon looked past Mundi, pride stinging him fiercely. He made himself continue. "My son and his mother will stay or go, as they will."

"Obi-Wan is not yet ready to travel or to protect you." Mundi stood aside and let him enter.

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. "And I do not know if he is even returning with me until two days hence. With your permission we will stay two more days."

"As long as there are no more scenes like this morning's you may stay until he is recovered. As for your son, Anakin is welcome to stay and benefit from the tutelage here, if that is his wish, we have a number of students from various lands temporarily residing here in that capacity. The boy's mother, however, must return with you - we have no place for her among our walls, not on a permanent basis."

"I somehow doubt she wishes to return with me," Qui-Gon admitted sadly as they walked together toward his cell.

"I am sorry, but we cannot make an exception. She is too old to join the order and unless her life is in danger, we offer no sanctuary here."

"She's safe enough, I'll not harm her," bristled Qui-Gon. He let his longer legs carry him ahead of the Pater as they rounded a corner and he recognized his own cell at the end of it. Panaka and Olie looked relieved to see him, though they made no comment.

"Is someone with Kenobi?" he asked sharply.

"Tarpals."

"Good."

"You really don't need to stand your guard outside your own quarters, let alone Kenobi's," Mundi told him as he caught up with him.

"I hope you aren't planning to tell me that no harm can come to him here." Qui-Gon gave the man a sharp look.

"I realize that you do not understand our ways and therefore I am trying to make allowances for you. You have not made it easy, your highness. If you should need anything...." Mundi offered a small bow and left.

Qui-Gon watched the man leaving with ill-grace -every encounter with the man deepened his dislike. It occurred to him the feeling was quite likely mutual. Perhaps Pater Mundi felt the same way about letting Obi-Wan return to his castle as Qui-Gon himself felt about leaving Anakin here at the monastery. However, he sincerely doubted that Mundi could possibly understand how deeply a father could love his son. Love was probably frowned upon as an uncontrollable and unnecessary emotion.

The thoughts buzzed angrily about in his head and he was nearly at the single chair provided in his room when he realized it was already occupied. Shmi sat there, her face red, her eyes puffy. Qui-Gon felt another stab of guilt go through him, knowing he was responsible for her unhappiness.

He stared down at her, unsure of what to say, how to even begin to bind the wounds between them; she had always been frank with him, but never before hurtful. If it had been anyone else he would have sent them away summarily, not even tried to reconcile, but this was Shmi; mother of his son, the first and possibly only person who had lain with him because she loved him rather than the crown, his steadfast friend for many years.

He didn't have so many friends that he could trust that he could lose one so easily.

He examined the floor beneath his boots, watching as the last of the snow melted into small puddles around his feet, turning the slate grey dark. It was Shmi who finally broke the awkward silence between them.

"Your Highness, I am truly sorry."

"You've never apologized for speaking your mind before."

"I am not apologizing for speaking my mind. I'm not sorry for that," her eyes flashed with a spark of fire. "But I am sorry for deliberately wounding you, that was cruel and unkind of me."

"I accept your apology, if you will accept one from me. Much of what you said was truth-- I have not been an easy man to live with and you deserve better."

"I probably do at that," she told him, the corner of her mouth lifting.

Qui-Gon laughed, feeling some of the tension creep away. He knelt in front of the chair, taking Shmi's hands in his own. "I don't like it, but if completing his education here at the temple is truly what you and Anakin want, I will not stand in his way. I do have one condition."

"Of course you do," she responded tartly, her smile disappearing. "Let's hear it."

"I want him to come home for regular visits-- it's important that he not forget his duties as heir to the throne. And I would not like him to forget that his father loves him and wants him at home."

She looked a little surprised. "That seems reasonable." Her voice still shook with the aftermath of emotion, and she reached out to touch his face. "Prince Qui-Gon..."

"Just Qui-Gon." He heard the sad desperation in his own voice.

"Qui-Gon." She tasted the name gently. "It is not just... that is, I want to say..." she hesitated. "Much of my anger came from jealousy, I'm afraid. And not of poor girls like Sira, or hapless boys like Bruck." She look like the words hurt her, but kept plowing on resolutely. "It's Kenobi. With the others, there was always a part of you that I touched and they didn't... but Kenobi..."

Qui-Gon nodded, understanding. "I can't have him," he said, and the words tasted as bitter as any he'd ever spoken. "He'll never be what I need him to be to me. Perhaps that's fitting punishment for the way I've hurt you."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Maybe he can, one day. But you must be patient with him, Qui-Gon. If it is to be, it will be on his terms. Not on yours."

He slid his arms about her waist; she held him close and let him pillow his head on her breast. "Will you come back with me? I need you to keep me in line." He heard tears in his own voice.

"Kenobi will take care of that, I expect." Sorrow and humor merged in her voice. "You don't need me. But... neither does Anakin, I think. I would be an anchor around his neck, here. I will come with you, Qui-Gon, and be glad that you asked that he could come and visit."

Qui-Gon didn't tell her that Mundi would not allow her to stay, prefering to let her believe she had a choice in the matter.

"I'll need you anyway," he told her. "Obi-Wan has not given me his answer, there's still the chance that he will not be returning with us."

"He will." Her voice held certainty.

"Has he spoken to you?"

"No, but I don't think he has a choice. Your lives are tied together, you don't have to be one of these pure, stiff monks to see that, it's as plain as the noses on your faces."

"Well, with you and Kenobi to keep me in line, it'll be a wonder if Anakin can even recognize me when he returns for his first visit."

Shmi laughed at that. "Oh, I think it'll take a lot more than a poor cook and monk to manage that miracle."


	56. Chapter 56

When Qui-Gon returned to Obi-Wan's room the next morning, it felt as though aeons had passed since he saw his bodyguard last. That sensation did not diminish when he heard the soft response to his knock and entered, to find Obi-Wan sitting behind a bowl of thick stew, looking much improved.

Anakin was already there, looking fidgety and nervous. Qui- Gon winced, thinking of the tales he had probably carried to Kenobi. A shaming and inauspicious beginning to Qui-Gon's new vow, if he had. "Son," he greeted Anakin soberly. "Obi-Wan." He bowed his head to them both and stepped in; there were no more chairs, so he stood.

Anakin blinked and stood abruptly to offer his own seat. "Father."

Qui-Gon accepted gracefully. "Before I ask for your answer, Obi-Wan, I will give you mine. His mother and I have discussed Anakin's desire to stay here with you as his sponsor, and we have made our decision." It sounded so mild, put that way. Anakin looked worried even though he had to know the outcome, and Obi-Wan looked even more so. Qui-Gon gravely put them out of their misery.

"Anakin may stay, provided that Pater Mundi permits him to make regular trips home to visit."

"YIPPEE!" Anakin capered around the room, shouting.

"Son! Don't break Obi-Wan's furniture." There wasn't much to break, but the yelling was giving Qui-Gon a headache.

He turned to gauge Obi-Wan's reaction, and pulled up short. Obi-Wan's face shone with radiant approval and shy pleasure, his blue eyes wide and startled. Qui-Gon's heart cracked, and he fell in love all over again.

He drew back, pulling his cloak tight over himself, hiding his hands inside the fold of his arms. "Yes. Well. Make whatever arrangements you require, and let me know what part I need to play in them, if any." The gruff tone in his voice was lost in Anakin's exuberant chatter, as he descended on Obi-Wan, trying to make all the plans in thirty seconds or less.

He watched as Anakin bounced onto the bed into Obi-Wan's lap, his bodyguard's arms coming around the boy as naturally as if Anakin were his own son. Qui-Gon realized that the two had become quite close during their stay, short though it had been. Obi-Wan spoke quietly to the boy, easily calming his exuberance, not by dulling it, but by focusing it.

Soon Anakin was making a quick bow and bounding from the room, several tasks to fulfill.

"We aren't much for pomp and circumstance here," Obi-Wan said, turning to him after the boy left. "You'll probably find our ceremony simple in the extreme, but it is thousands of years old."

"Can you tell me what it consists of?" Qui-Gon spoke carefully, determined not to make a misstep.

"As Anakin's sponsor, I shall present him to Pater Mundi at the front gates and ask that he be granted entrance to learn. Pater Mundi will ask if there is anyone who will accept responsibility for overseeing the boy's studies while he is here-- my own mentor and teacher Brother Lucas has already agreed to do so."

"So it isn't necessary for me to give him away, or anything like that?"

That brought a soft chuckle from his bodyguard's lips and Qui-Gon resolved to do what he could to coax the sound from Obi-Wan more often. "He isn't going to become a monk, he will still be your son and heir-- you aren't giving him away, just giving him the best education you can. He will be a formidable ruler with the knowledge of the order in his hand."

"You set great store by these monks." --Who were going to let you die, he thought, though he didn't say the words out loud.

"They will teach your son well. He will be a better ruler for their teaching," Obi-Wan was lovely in his earnestness, his changeable eyes appearing as blue as Anakin's, light color upon his cheeks.

"Better than me, you mean," suggested Qui-Gon, dryly.

"I didn't say that." But Obi-Wan didn't meet his eyes and Qui-Gon knew that his bodyguard believed it, even if he would not say it.

Qui-Gon sighed, sitting back in the narrow chair. No point in self-disclosure or explanation or confessions or promises. No point in much of anything.

"Will you come back to the castle with me?" He interrupted his own question by raising his palm sharply. "No, I shouldn't press. You'll tell me your decision in your own time, I'm sure." He stood up, abruptly as agitated as his own son had been just moments before, but much less pleasantly so.

"Your highness..."

"No," Qui-Gon interrupted him again, doggedly. "I want you to know first that I'll respect whatever decision you make, and I won't argue." He stopped in front of the fire, staring into the embers.

"Prince Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan's bed rustled, then creaked, and he heard the patter of bare feet on the hard stone, approaching him. "I will return to my duty."

He glanced back, not sure what Kenobi meant by that. Obi- Wan stood tall, wearing a simple linen sleep tunic that stretched to mid-calf, but he still looked strong and proud.

"I will not forsake my duty until it is done."

Qui-Gon's breath caught, but he forced himself to release it again immediately. Duty. That was all. And Kenobi's duty could be done as swiftly as Pater Mundi chose, which might be seconds, should Qui-Gon annoy him again. "I am pleased and honored to accept your service." Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "There will be changes made when we return to the castle, to increase the ease with which you may do your job effectively."

"That is not necessary to ensure my being there, however I do appreciate any effort you make in that direction." Obi- Wan looked up at him, eyes serious. "I would especially appreciate it if you didn't take my suggestions as a personal affront. They are intended only to keep you from harm."

"I can assure you that my attitude is among the changes I have in mind. I am sorry for my behavior in the past; I have been a brutish, unkind lout."

Obi-Wan held up his hand. "You have already apologized, your highness. There is no need to do so again, until you have committed a new offense." The corner of Obi-Wan's mouth twitched and the twinkle in his eye mitigated his words.

Qui-Gon inclined his head, accepting the gentle barb. Compared to Shmi's harangue, Obi-Wan was letting him off easy.

"I need something from you, if you are to come back with me," said Qui-Gon, watching ruefully as Obi-Wan's spine became impossibly straighter.

"Yes, your highness?"

"You must promise me that if I insult you, or cross into an area that is governed by some monkish rule I have no inkling of, that you will let me know. I don't mean to be a brutish oaf and I do have some manners, but a man cannot know which fork to use at the dining table if he has never been told which one goes with which course."

"I accept your condition. Thank you."

Qui-Gon wanted to touch Obi-Wan, wanted to reach out and brush his coarse, callused fingertips against one fine cheekbone, right where a dark freckle lay on the skin. He let his hand tighten to a fist instead, hidden inside the folds of his cloak.

"Thank you," he responded. He felt elated and miserable all at once, choked with a sensation of loss and the foreknowledge of useless yearning even as his heart soared with elation that Obi-Wan would still be with him, still be near, at least.

Obi-Wan smiled, unaware of his conflict, innocent. Still innocent, even after everything that had passed.

Thank all the powers that be; he had not destroyed that innocent light in his folly.


	57. Chapter 57

Qui-Gon shivered as a chill wind blew down from the ice- capped peaks of the mountain. Despite his sadness at leaving his son, he would be happy to leave the cold stone walls of the monastery behind. He had found no peace in this place, on the contrary, he had been angered and disturbed in turns, the philosophies of these austere men and women at odds with his own in so many ways.

He looked over to where Obi-Wan stood with Anakin, his bodyguard wrapped within the folds of his thick brown robe. He doubted Obi-Wan had found peace here either -though he had to admit that his bodyguard had certainly found new resolve. Obi-Wan's face was as serene and bland as the rest of them.

Perhaps when they had returned to the castle he would ask Obi-Wan again about the penance and what had driven the young monk to end his life in the snows. He hoped they could find again the simple companionship they'd enjoyed before he threw his temper tantrum over the boy's refusal of his sexual advances.

He could feel his guards shifting restlessly behind him; they were eager to be on their way. Beside him Shmi stood tall and proud, only the occasional soft sniffle betraying her own emotion at leaving her son.

Finally the gates opened and Pater Mundi and the same three who'd greeted him a week earlier came out, along with the man Obi-Wan had introduced as his mentor-- Brother Lucas. A small number of young novitiates were also present, mostly boys around Anakin's age, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to mimic their elders' calm stillness.

A hush fell on the assembled crowd; Obi-Wan stepped forward with his arms tucked deeply into his sleeves. He still looked a little shaky, to Qui-Gon's eye.

"I bring a candidate for learning. He is of age, and he is conscious of what his choice means. His parents have given consent for him to be trained and taught among us." Obi-Wan surveyed the gathering, meeting the councilors' eyes. "I wish to sponsor his training. Will he be granted admission?"

Pater Mundi let the silence stretch coolly for a long moment, and Qui-Gon was certain it was done simply to needle him by giving him the hope that permission would be refused. Anakin fidgeted, his face suddenly anxious, and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth. Sith, but he hated leaving his son to this! Perhaps in a few months, the lad would change his mind and ask to come home. It was a hopeful thought, and Qui-Gon brightened accordingly.

"I have no objection," Mundi responded smoothly. "Is there one who will see to the child's training and be held accountable for him?"

"I will." Brother Lucas stepped forwnwavering and clear as he answered the question. As Brother Lucas held his hand out and Anakin took it a pang went through Qui-Gon. He knew he wasn't the world's best father, but he had always taken a personal interest in the boy, made sure that Anakin listened to his mother, had the best tutors. It galled him to know that it hadn't been enough for his son.

Anakin went through the gates with Brother Lucas and that seemed to be the end of it. The novitiates gathered around him, their sudden exuberance heartening to the prince-- at least the children had not yet had the life completely worked out of them. Obi-Wan was speaking quietly with Mundi, or rather Pater Mundi was speaking to him; Obi-Wan appeared to be doing little more than listening and nodding. After a brief hug and a kiss to either cheek, the Pater was making his way to Qui-Gon.

Shmi touched his shoulder gently and slipped away to say good-bye to her son, leaving him to face the Pater alone.

"Thank you for your hospitality," said Qui-Gon. "Take care of my son."

"We will, your highness. We were glad of your visit." The monk bowed briefly and took his leave. Only too eager to see them gone, thought Qui-Gon. The feeling was quite mutual.

A stone-faced Shmi returned with Anakin. The boy raised his arms and Qui-Gon hoisted him into the air, tossing him up and catching him again. He wondered if it were perhaps the last time he would do so; Anakin was scheduled to return to the castle for a two week visit in three months, but the boy was already growing and would quite possibly be too heavy for such play upon his return.

Anakin's arms circled his neck as Qui-Gon held the boy in a tight embrace. "I love you, Father."

"And I you, son." He set the boy down and watched as he scampered off to say goodbye to Obi-Wan.

Then Obi-Wan was coming toward him and the great gates were closing. The last thing Qui-Gon saw behind them was Anakin's bright face, his son waving vigorously at them.

Beside him Shmi wiped at her eyes, the tears she had been holding back finally being given leave to fall. Turning to her, Obi-Wan laid his hand on her arm. "It was a good choice," he said, his voice soft and even Qui-Gon felt soothed by the words.


	58. Chapter 58

Qui-Gon kept himself back, wanting to keep an eye on Obi- Wan. His bodyguard sat his saddle steadily, even if he seemed a little less pert than usual. The whole party seemed subdued, preoccupied by the knowledge of leaving one of their own behind them. Qui-Gon sighed, feeling the weight more keenly than anyone else in the group except for Shmi.

Qui-Gon remained silent and tried to keep his vigilance unobtrusive. Even now, after all he had learned, he could not look at Obi-Wan without remembering the lad naked in his arms, drowsy blue eyes fluttering open, face confused and appealing, half-parted lips seeming to beg for his kisses. He gritted his teeth miserably. This was part of his penance, part of the price he had to pay for his ungracious behavior and his selfish desires.

Obi-Wan was safe from him now.

Qui-Gon drew his spine straight and held himself upright with conscious dignity. The crisp air washed over his face, and he set his eyes on the green horizon, drawing ever- nearer. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he was startled when Obi-Wan reined his horse near to speak with him.

"You did the right thing. Anakin will be fine; he will thrive and prosper there." Obi-Wan looked concerned and compassionate; Qui-Gon realized sheepishly that he'd been preoccupied once again with his selfish thoughts rather than with thoughts of his son.

"He is only ten."

"Many of the lands' dukes and earls send their children to the temple for education as young as five or six. And his teachers will not let him forget what waits for him."

"You think I would have benefited from a similar education," suggested Qui-Gon, returning to an earlier conversation.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and Qui-Gon wondered if his bodyguard would answer him. "I believe you were allowed to have your own way at all times. You were never refused, constantly indulged. That is a very dangerous habit for a future king. In the past it has led to wars and times of great hardship for the people as their leader indulges in personal whims."

"Perhaps such dangers will be averted as long as I have someone such as yourself to remind me of my faults," commented Qui-Gon dryly.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you," said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No, do not apologize. You are quite right in your assumption that I have been surrounded my entire life by people who indulge my whims, yes-men. I would appreciate it if you would feel free to speak your mind with me. I will try to remember that I have requested it and not take out my temper on you if you hit a nerve."

"Your highness honors me," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I will do my best to deserve that honour."

Qui-Gon smiled tightly, knowing any response would expose his feelings and he did not wish to burden Obi-Wan with that knowledge. The monk would no doubt see it as another ploy to get him into bed and given his own past behavior, Qui-Gon would not blame him.

Silence grew between them, the sound of the horses' hooves on the hard ground signaling their departure from the cold, snowy lands of the monastery. It would take them almost two days to return to the castle, but Qui-Gon felt a weight come off his shoulders as the temple and its holdings were left behind. Even knowing that Anakin wasn't with them, he was well-pleased to be gone from the oppressive hallways and the unnatural silence. He could admit that he had overly indulged his appetites, but at least he was alive, not shut away and closed off like the monks of the monastery.

He looked at Obi-Wan, riding, quiet and pale, beside him. Though the boy emulated his elders, there was a part of him that seemed not to belong in that forced environment, to Qui-Gon's eyes at least. How long would Obi-Wan stay at the castle and would the boy still wear that calm, emotionless mask after a year? Two? Ten? Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder if he were condemning them both to lives of helpless frustration and pain.

He vowed that Obi-Wan would not know of his love, of his lust. Let he himself be the one to suffer for them, not Kenobi.

Qui-Gon fell back, moving to ride near Shmi, but she remained silent, and did not lighten his mood. In fact, his spirits sank further. The echoes of the ugly words between them still lingered; he felt his own tongue weighted to silence by the memory. And by Anakin's absence. Qui-Gon had to admit that there was resentment in his heart against her for insisting that their son stay in a place that he hated, among men and ideas he distrusted. He wondered if he would ever again feel able to rely on and trust her as he once had.

He fell back further, riding abreast of Tarpals. The guard was a solid man, though cursed with a long sallow face and large ugly ears. "We'll have to treat with Xanatos and Crion," Qui-Gon commented quietly. "Their attack on my family is an act of overt aggression that cannot be ignored."

Tarpals nodded thoughtfully. "It will be hard fighting. Crion is a crafty leader, and Xanatos knows no equal in battle craft and trickery. We will lose men."

"We'll lose more if they grow confident enough to invade... and civilians besides." Qui-Gon sighed heavily. "We shall see what my father the King thinks."

Tarpals looked at Qui-Gon soberly. "Your Highness..." he hesitated, clearly thinking better of what he'd been prepared to say.

Qui-Gon watched him closely, thoughtful. "You think he will not want to pursue this affront with a show of force."

"Your Highness, it is not my place to speculate. Only to do as I am ordered."

Qui-Gon nodded, sympathizing. "My father will not object if I reinforce the border guard."

"No, your Highness."

"I would like you to be in charge of operations there. Keep watch for evidence of amassing troops, small raids, and any build-up of aggression."

Tarpals nodded briskly. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Qui-Gon spurred his horse forward, realizing that he had just taken an important step toward rulership, acting independently of his father-- and Tarpals looked as though he would obey without question. It was heartening, the first thing that appeared to have gone right in many days. Qui-Gon only hoped that increased vigilance would be sufficient to prevent loss of life.

His bodyguard turned toward him as Sebulba drew abreast of the smaller horse. "Perhaps we could find a route back to the castle that would circumvent your country estate?" suggested Obi-Wan.

"Wh-" Qui-Gon cut off his own question as the answer presented itself -to save Shmi any painful memories of the attack. Once again his bodyguard had given more thought to his family than Qui-Gon himself had. "We can cut across the grounds. There is a small clearing by a stream in the western woods, we could make camp there for the night."

Obi-Wan nodded and kept pace as Qui-Gon nudged Sebulba forward and gave the orders to Panaka. They made the remainder of the journey in silence, the horses slowing as the trees grew thicker, and it was already dark when they arrived at the clearing. Panaka and his men made quick work of setting up camp, staking the horses by the water and lighting a single fire for light and to warm their food.

With Shmi's deft touch the plain rations were far more appetizing than they were accustomed to. That, coupled with the guard's pleasure at returning to the castle turned the evening into an amiable affair.

They all turned in early, planning to be up with the sun for the completion of their journey. Qui-Gon lay in his bedroll, staring up at the stars. Obi-Wan lay beside him, his breathing slowing as he fell asleep. Qui-Gon imagined he could feel the boy's heat against his side and remembered the joy of holding him. Though Obi-Wan's body had been chilled and his survival in question, it had been the closest Qui-Gon had come-- would ever come, he suspected-- to his desires.

He ached for that tiny taste, for the sweet sensation of enfolding Obi-Wan in his arms and nestling close against him. He had not had sexual thoughts then; only thoughts of comfort and protection had crossed his mind-- and yet it had been more intimate than any embrace he'd ever known.

Qui-Gon lay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb the young monk, not wanting to threaten him in any way. His body kindled, he felt restless and miserable, but he did not dare even to turn to Shmi... as if she'd have wanted him. No, that part of their relationship was behind them now. It had to be; he could not use her again without love, and he would never love her as he loved his bodyguard. He had often heard minstrels tell stories and sing songs where love equated to suffering, but he'd never before understood them. Perhaps because he had never truly loved.

Resigned to thinking of his bodyguard through a sleepless night, he turned his thoughts to their living arrangements, wondering what Obi-Wan would find acceptable. Perhaps if he partitioned the bedroom into two living areas, and made sure the only entry to his was afforded through Obi-Wan's part of the room. That way they could each have a certain amount of privacy, far more than if Obi-Wan lay rolled in blankets at his bedside.

Obi-Wan deserved a proper bed, at any rate, and privacy of his own. And more clothes. And his own food. And status in the palace, the right to command servants and even, in some cases, soldiers and guards.

Qui-Gon began to prepare a lengthy list of the things he would give to Obi-Wan to ensure the lad's comfort and happiness. Horses and hawks and servants in waiting; fine coats, jewels to weave into his braid... the prince drifted into sleep as the list grew, hazily building his beloved bodyguard cloud-castles and dressing him in diamond dust and moonlight.


	59. Chapter 59

Obi-Wan Kenobi woke when the first rays of dawn began to play on his face. He blinked, hearing the soft noises of a woodland morning-- birdcalls and amphibian songs seeming ghostly in the golden mist that had settled around the campsite. Prince Qui-Gon's tousled hair and beard glowed golden, covered with a million tiny droplets of mist, making him seem remote and enchanting even though he lay only inches from Obi-Wan.

Beautiful. Flawed and beautiful... and trying.

Obi-Wan lay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb the silence of the morning camp, not wanting to break the spell that lay over everyone who slept there. In this moment, it hardly seemed that Prince Qui-Gon could be cruel or coarse, or that he could be capable of such anger that it took the assembled Temple Council's full effort to shield his wrath from the initiates, whose mental defenses could not cope with its force.

Obi-Wan did not know what had transpired in the argument with Shmi, but apparently it had been beneficial in spite of the undisciplined torrents of emotion and rage. He wished his own calm reasoning could have persuaded Qui-Gon to take the right action, but now he would never know if it had been himself or Shmi who changed the man's mind. Perhaps both.

It was something to be accepted. The monks taught that there was no single right path to a good action or a good decision, and as long as more good was achieved than evil, one should simply thank fate and move onward.

Obi-Wan sighed, shifting just a fraction to ease his shoulder, which lay cramped beneath his weight. That was a morally ambiguous view, at best, and one that he'd often been quite uncomfortable with, but in this instance, he could see that it worked. Still, it was sad to see the new distance between Qui-Gon and Shmi. She lay halfway across the camp, and they had not spoken at dinner or afterward before lying down to sleep.

Qui-Gon would need him all the more now that he and Shmi were partly estranged. It gave him pause to think how much the prince relied on him; he had not expected that when he first accepted this mission. Perhaps the prince would always need him; they had moved well beyond a simply professional relationship into a far more personal one: friends and adversaries, each owing a life debt to the other.

Perhaps this would be a permanent assignment for him. The writing was on the wall, if he cared to see it, in both Pater Mundi and Brother Lucas's attitudes and actions. His own feelings of being an alien in the monastery merely supported that conjecture. He'd never expected to feel like an outcast there, but now he did. It was troubling.

At least he knew that he was wanted at court, though he might never feel he belonged there. Qui-Gon's emotions and desire for him might be troublesome, but they did not leave him in doubt of where he stood in the prince's eyes, and he doubted his standing among the Jedi.

Qui-Gon's eyes fluttered open, vague and lost in sleep for just a moment before they focused on him, and Obi-Wan felt himself smile automatically as Qui-Gon's face brightened. He felt affection for this man, saw good in him despite his careless ways, saw what he could be and wanted sincerely to help Qui-Gon achieve it.

Coming with him had been the right decision. Obi-Wan felt it as simple certainty, currents in fate converging and rushing him along into an unknown future.

"Up, my Prince. We ride early." Obi-Wan spoke, smiling.

Qui-Gon's eyes darkened hotly for just a moment, then went opaque as the prince rolled away from min and got to his feet. Obi-Wan winced, hearing his own unintentional innuendo too late.

Qui-Gon had apparently dismissed it, though, stretching his long heavy body and groaning. "I'm getting too old to sleep on the ground." His voice sounded gruff. "I've aches on top of aches, and a hard day in the saddle will mean more."

"We should arrive at the castle before nightfall," Obi-Wan pointed out, feeling shame at his unintentional taunt. "There will be hot water for baths, and you can summon Sira to tend you."

Qui-Gon gave him an inscrutable sideways glance. "If I choose," he commented shortly.

"I will give you your privacy if you do, and stand guard outside your door," Obi-Wan offered. "It was ill-mannered of me not to think of doing so before."

"You would hardly be a fit guard if you stood in a drafty corridor all night and then followed me about all day," Qui-Gon muttered, bending to fold and roll his blankets. "We will find a better solution."

Obi-Wan followed the prince's example, quickly making a neat bedroll. Around them, the camp began to stir, men wakened by their quiet conversation. Someone fed the fire and began to heat water for porridge; Qui-Gon saddled Sebulba and tied on his blanket roll and saddlebags. "We will eat standing and then make haste to the castle," he announced loudly enough for everyone to hear. "We will all feel the better for the chance to sleep in our own beds tonight."

There was a quiet rumble of agreement, and the men began to work more quickly. Qui-Gon himself went to help Shmi saddle her horse while Obi-Wan got a bowl of watery porridge sweetened with a dollop of honey for each of them. He carried Qui-Gon his breakfast, and they stood together to eat in companionable silence. Shmi joined them after fetching her own bowl, and when they finished, Qui-Gon gave her a leg up onto her gray palfrey.

Obi-Wan watched as the prince glanced about the camp, estimating how soon the men would finish. He gave them a few more minutes, then vaulted gracefully onto Sebulba. "We ride," he called, and Obi-Wan had to hide a smirk as he jumped onto his own horse and spurred forward in the prince's wake. Whatever Qui-Gon's upbringing had failed to provide, it had definitely not neglected to inspire the man with a sense of his own grandeur.


	60. Chapter 60

Outrider scouts and relayed signals notified him that his son's party was finally returning from their foray out of the kingdom. Yoda sat in his chamber, wrapped in a heavy robe in spite of the warmth of the summer day, brooding on his son's return. Qui-Gon had not even bothered to notify him that he planned to leave. Intolerable insolence and foolhardiness.

Yoda ran his fingers along the quill of his pen, letting the feather tickle his skin lightly. Reports said that his son's bastard was not with the party; perhaps he'd been killed in the raid. The woman had not. Kenobi was still with Qui-Gon too, in spite of his obvious dissatisfaction prior to leaving. It surprised Yoda; he'd expected the young monk to return to the monastery shortly.

No one had ever borne his arrogant son's company for so long. Perhaps justifiably so. Yoda regretted not taking another concubine and trying again to breed a suitable replacement to wear his crown, but he had been old when Qui- Gon was born. Yoda sighed, remembering his queen. She had had died in giving birth to the crown prince, a horrible tragedy that sent the whole land into mourning even as it celebrated the birth of his heir.

It had been many years before Yoda recovered from her loss, and when he had, he'd no longer had an interest in carousing with women.

He sighed. The possibility of his siring a new heir was beyond consideration now, and it was a pressing concern especially with Qui-Gon's son Anakin missing. Not that a kitchen slut's whelp was ideal for the throne by any means! Still, there had always been the possibility of by-passing Qui-Gon altogether, handing the crown down to the boy and remaining in nominal control as an advisor, along with some of the other nobles. Palpatine in particular had been most gracious and kind these last days. An old and loyal friend...

Yoda frowned at the mist that seemed to cover his thoughts these days, making him sluggish and forgetful. He drank several mouthfuls of his tea, enjoying the strong flavor, enjoying the way it seemed to clear his mind.

Feeling stronger, he slid out of his chair and hobbled his way to the window, leaning heavily on his cane. The land spread out before him. His land; verdant, rolling hills and long, fertile fields, as well as rivers and lakes and deep green forests. His land, and there was no one he could trust it to. He was tired, but had no choice-- he would have to continue to live, to ensure the Kingdom enjoyed the rulership it had come to expect under his reign.

There was a small dust cloud on the main road now, visible even to his tired eyes, and he suspected it must be his son. Probably Qui-Gon was bedding the little monk; he crept into the bed of every likely maid and lad he saw, why should a Jedi be any different? Indeed, that's probably why the bodyguard was returning with him now; no doubt the Jedi had refused Kenobi on the grounds that he had defiled himself and broken oath.

"Your Majesty." A warm voice spoke behind him and Yoda turned to greet his adviser cordially.

"Palpatine. It is good to see you. How fares your ward?"

"She is well." Palpatine's smile stretched. "Things are so well we have found leisure to return to the castle indefinitely."

"That is indeed good news."

"You seem well today." Palpatine's hand fell on Yoda's shoulder. "Fresh hot tea... good for the bones. Go fetch more, girl."

King Yoda watched the wench as she scampered away. Siri, he thought her name was.

"So useful." Palpatine watched her as well. "So eager to please."

"She is a good girl," Yoda agreed. He knew Qui-Gon was bedding her; perhaps she could breed a new heir.

Palpatine continued to smile, and for a moment Yoda almost thought he saw something predatory in the other man's gaze. He shifted, a bit startled. "Is your tea too cold?" Palpatine poured more. How had he moved from the window to the table so quickly? Yoda frowned, shaking his head, and accepted the cup.

"I am an old man, and my mind wanders," the king confessed. "I am lucky to have such good counsel."

"Your majesty honors me."

"My son will be back shortly," said Yoda, nodding his head toward the window. "Without his son, I'm told. It is a sorry kingdom that boasts only one heir."

"Perhaps your majesty should appoint your heir."

"Dispense with the bloodline?" Yoda was shocked.

"You are a bold ruler and these are bold times. The bloodline is over-rated." Palpatine's words cut easily through the fog that had once again returned to his mind and when the Duke put it like that it seemed so reasonable...

It was at least something to consider.


	61. Chapter 61

Yoda is mine.

The doddering fool stands looking out the window, eager in spite of all his protests for sight of the son he indulged like a grandchild. I could not have him more firmly tied to me if he wore chains. He will do as I ask; I need but lift a finger and he would jump, if I chose, to the flagstones below.

I do not think I will have him do so, at present. His obedience suits me. He is a useful pet, if not as pretty as some.

"More tea?" He accepts the cup and drinks deeply. Good-- the same liquid that once delivered the slow poison I intended for his fate now rejuvenates him. He sucks at it greedily, eyes riveted on the dusty road.

I can see them now... the fool prince in the lead. He will not be pleased, I think, to learn of the changes that have been made in his absence. With Valorum gone, it has been easy to have my way. With prince Qui-Gon, it has always been easy. Now it is not so easy.

The little whelp of a monk thinks to give him a backbone, and it might just be done. Qui-Gon Jinn is very much his father's son in spite of his dissolution, willful and stubborn, artful and clever when he chooses. And vulnerable. Terribly, deeply vulnerable, and ready to be played like a lute.

We shall see who can pluck a better tune on his strings, monk. Your refusal to take the power and influence you could gain from bedding him may yet prove your downfall.

"Do you see the boy?"

"No."

The old fool's spies were right, the boy is not with them. Unfortunately he's not dead-- my spies inform me he has chosen to remain at the temple under the tutelage of the monks.

Pity. He would have been useful to me here, but I am sure I can find a way to make his absence a boon.

I could tell Yoda the boy yet lives, but I shall not. It would not do to tip my hand so soon; he need not know of my network of spies. And aside from that is the delicious pain that emanates from him at what he thinks is his loss. It is like a balm to me, sad and mournful, it fills my soul like sweet air fills the lungs.

It is no less than he deserves; a true ruler cares little for the people, it is the land that should be his lover, as she will be mine.

I shall woo her with sweeping proclamations and wed her with horses and fires and men with long swords. A war to the south, to bring in a dowry with which to buy her; a war to the east to extend her borders to the sea; a war to the west to wipe that Crion fool and his bastard son from their holdings; and to the North... a war to rid the world of those ridiculous monks.

Yoda sighs wearily next to me. He is old and dying, ready to accept his death, all but willing it to himself; with each passing moment, I come closer to my goal.


	62. Chapter 62

Prince Qui-Gon had rarely been happier to see his father's castle come into view over the horizon; Sebulba seemed happy too, picking up his pace as though anticipating his stall and supper.

Obi-Wan was sagging slightly at his side; the trip had been hard for him, though he was much less weakened than he had been. He had the cowl of his robe pulled over his face, as though he still felt he were disgraced, or as though he hoped to hide from something. Maybe from all the courtiers who assumed he was Qui-Gon's concubine.

Qui-Gon nudged his horse closer to Obi-Wan's. "We'll rest well tonight, Kenobi. It's not much farther."

Obi-Wan rewarded him with a smile and nod, too tired to waste words. They entered the gardens and started the circuitous route around the lake, where Qui-Gon had first made a serious attempt to seduce the lad. He crimsoned as they passed the spot; Obi-Wan never seemed to glance at it.

Obi-Wan had been beautiful naked, his nipples drawn tight with cold, his skin glowing pinkly, his hair slicked wet and the tip of his braid curling around the edge of one nipple. A waste. A horrible waste, to poison that beauty with guilt.

Qui-Gon sighed, more tired than angry. He felt beaten, as if they were returning to the castle in disgrace, the battle lost. His son had chosen to stay behind, his friendship with the boy's mother strained beyond all recognition, and the monk he'd hoped to bed, was in fact falling in love with, vowed to chastity.

At least they weren't dead. That thought had him sitting straighter in his saddle, renewed energy surging through him as though he'd been hit by lightning. The fact was that he had come close to losing all three to death's cold, impersonal hand. He hadn't. Certainly this alone was cause for thanks, if not celebration.

It was with this in his mind and heart that he spurred Sebulba on, pressing the beast to arrive at the castle with head held high, victory and not defeat, his companion. Obi-Wan kept pace, pushing his temple-bred mare to keep up with Sebulba's great stride, much as the monk himself kept pace with Qui-Gon when they walked.

The prince swept through the courtyard, bringing Sebulba to a stop below his father's chambers. "All hail, King Yoda," he called loudly and was rewarded by movement in the window of his father's sitting room. "We have returned, triumphant! The lady and my son were saved from the attack by the Telosians by our valiant Captain and his men. The Temple monks were most pleased to accept Anakin into their midst. My heir shall be educated by these men of knowledge. The land shall know prosperity and riches in the days to come."

He dismounted with a flourish, his entire party following suit behind him. He bowed deeply, the movement again echoed. "Your majesty, I salute you. We salute you." A glance over at Obi-Wan found the monk with a small, sardonic smile on his face, but Qui-Gon refused to let that ruin the moment. It felt good, snatching a victory from defeat.

Let Obi-Wan have his pleasures. Poor lad, they were few enough.

Yoda appeared at the window and looked down at him, blinking almost sleepily. "You will have Anakin sent for."

Qui-Gon blinked. "My father, this was a careful decision, made after intense thought. With respect, I shall not." He could almost feel Obi-Wan's mingled relief and worry, emanating from his bodyguard like a wave.

Bolstered by his support, Qui-Gon continued bravely. "I have had ample opportunity to study the monks, their ability to train a warrior, their knowledge of the etiquette and diplomacy and history required by a King. I believe Anakin could be in no better position to prepare himself for rulership of the kingdom."

He was surprised to realize that he did in fact believe that; it occurred to him that his reluctance to let his son stay had been more a reaction to Mundi and his own wish to have his son near than an altruistic desire to protect the boy. In retrospect, he didn't truly fear Anakin would adapt readily to monkish rules; he had too much of his father in him.

Yoda looked at him implacably, a palsy starting in his left hand; Qui-Gon watched with dismay as it spread up his arm. Yoda realized it in a moment and clutched his hand on the windowsill to stop it. His face worked with anger.

Qui-Gon saw a shadow pass, elusive but there, and he wondered who was with his father, which of his advisors conferred in secret with him. He ground his teeth together to keep from demanding the man to show himself. Instead, he waited in silence, head held high, for his father to either continue the conversation or dismiss him.

Yoda continued to stare down at them and Qui-Gon began to wonder if his attention hadn't wandered. Yoda had been ill when they'd left, was this further evidence of his failing health? The servants were growing restless, soft whispers and shifting feet filling the quiet that had fallen over the courtyard.

Qui-Gon felt suddenly the need to break the silence between them, to end the desperate waiting for his father to speak. There was less love between he and his father than he would have liked, but he had no wish for his father to be ridiculed, for his illness to become the subject of gossip.

"I will throw a banquet tonight, to celebrate my return and the victory of my guard against our enemies. I hope you are well enough to join us, Your Majesty."

Yoda turned, and after a moment, the heavy velvet curtain fell to cover the window from inside. A low, dismayed buzz arose among the servants, then they melted away; the courtiers followed with slightly more dignity. Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan, frowning worriedly; his bodyguard was pale and weary. His attempt to smooth things was poorly done not merely because his father had rejected it.

"I'm sorry," he spoke softly. "Let's hurry into the castle. You'll have time to bathe and rest before the banquet."

"It was a noble attempt." Obi-Wan sagged just a little; Qui-Gon offered his arms and Obi-Wan dismounted, nearly falling against him. Qui-Gon had to resist the impulse to wound the young man's dignity by scooping him up and carrying him inside.

He regretted respecting Obi-Wan's dignity by the time they reached the third level below his chambers; the flights of steep stairs were proving quite difficult for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon sent every servant they met scuttling with orders to fetch tubs, hot water, refreshing fruits and teas, fresh clothes-- anything he could think of to spare Obi-Wan the embarrassment of their eyes as he staggered doggedly up the stairs and to ready nice things for him.

As they reached the final hallway, Qui-Gon moved to swing the monk into his arms, dignity be damned, but Obi-Wan shook his head. "You give your enemies too much of a chance if they know how weak I still am."

Qui-Gon felt his jaw tighten, teeth grinding together as he kept his mouth shut over his words; at this rate he would have nothing of his teeth left. Unable to assist his bodyguard in any other way, Qui-Gon slowed his steps considerably, hoping the slower pace would help.

They arrived at his chambers without further incident and once the door closed behind him, Qui-Gon swept Obi-Wan into his arms and carried him to his bedroom. A bath was already waiting for them, steam rising from the water like mist over a river.

He sat Obi-Wan on the big wing chair and, shooing away the serving girls, began to undress him, making quick work of the layers of tunics and belts and sashes and laces, and pulling the heavy leather boots from Obi-Wan's feet. His bodyguard made no attempt to fight him, or insist on performing the task himself, testament to his exhaustion and Qui-Gon felt his worry increase.

Obi-Wan should have been grumbling, complaining that he was capable of undressing himself, that Qui-Gon was taking advantage of the situation. His skin should have been golden hued with a flush of color across his cheeks, not this ghost-like translucent white.

Qui-Gon tested the temperature of the bath, dipping in his hand as far as his wrist. It was perfect and he picked Obi-Wan up and carefully lowered him into the water.


	63. Chapter 63

Obi-Wan sighed softly and let his head fall back against the edge of the tub. Qui-Gon pillowed it with one hand until he could fumble a towel into folds and slip it behind the lad's head. "I feel numb," Obi-Wan murmured, his voice a little thick.

"Just relax. The ride was too hard for you, and the stairs took your reserves." The hell with the banquet, he'd cancel it or make only a token appearance before he made the lad attend. "Would you rather have a servant wash you?" Qui-Gon hesitated, his hand on a scrubbing cloth.

"No, you." Obi-Wan sounded nearly asleep as the warm water worked to relax him. Qui-Gon hoped it would soothe the aches out of his bones and help him rest. He tried not to let the words lodge in his heart, resisting the impulse to savor them and treasure them. Obi-Wan didn't want Qui-Gon's hands on him, he just didn't want to display his weakness. Duty again. Duty and sacrifice.

He wet the cloth and wrung it out, then soaped Obi-Wan gently but clinically, wiping away the dust and travel- stains from his skin-- the grime that had settled into the seams of flesh and fabric that lay at his throat, the dust on his face, the sweat under his arms. He moved quickly toward the monk's genitals, wanting to get it over with, to allay Obi-Wan's fears regarding his treatment, though the lad had expressed none. He kept his touch impersonal and quick and felt himself relax when that portion of the task was done.

He continued down, pulling Obi-Wan feet from the water as he washed them. He found himself lingering here, wiping gently, but firmly enough not to tickle, between toes and along the bottom. It was a pleasant foot; the toes were slender but not overlong, the nails neatly trimmed, the skin soft but callused in spots from long hours of boot- wearing. Qui-Gon knew from experience these feet could be nimble, quick, ready.

Obi-Wan made no comment, but Qui-Gon could feel the weight of his regard and he reluctantly let his bodyguard's foot drop. He turned to continue his ministrations and met Obi-Wan's eyes. Still the monk made no comment and Qui-Gon could read no censure in the changeable orbs.

Picking up Obi-Wan's hands, he treated them to the same tender care.

At last he could delay no longer and, bidding Obi-Wan stand, he wrapped him in a large towel before lifting him from the tub and settling him again in the large, wing- backed chair. Picking up a plate, he filled it with a variety of foods, culled from the trays and returned to sit on an ornate footstool next to Obi-Wan's chair.

"I'm not really very hungry," admitted the monk and Qui-Gon frowned. Obi-Wan needed the food in order to keep his strength up.

"But I am," he replied at last. Comprehension dawned in Obi-Wan's eyes and he reached for a piece of the bread.

Qui-Gon watched him mouth it listlessly, chewing and swallowing without much interest. He felt bad about the ruse, but he really was hungry and it did him good to see his weary bodyguard eat.

Qui-Gon lifted a bowl of hot broth next. It was several spoonfuls before Obi-Wan realized he'd done more than taste and pushed the bowl away. Another bite of bread, from a soft wheat roll-- a different one than the first, so the lad could not complain, then a bite of squash and another gulp of broth to wash it down. Qui-Gon took the spoon and began to feed Obi-Wan, keeping him chewing and swallowing so that he could hardly keep track of what he'd tasted and what he hadn't.

He fed himself from the same spoon as Obi-Wan chewed, keeping his part of the bargain by only eating from bowls Obi-Wan had tasted. He half-fancied he could taste the lad's mouth in each bite, adding a poignant savor to the much-needed nourishment.

It gave him an appetite, and when Obi-Wan had eaten enough to be full, Qui-Gon finished off the contents of the tray himself under the lad's sleepy eyes.

"Rest where you are for the moment. I'll lay out our clothes for the banquet later." He hoped the food and some sleep would revive his monk by then; Obi-Wan had eaten listlessly during the entirety of their journey and had insisted on guarding Qui-Gon's sleep, which had to be responsible for his lack of energy now.

He opened the wardrobe and rummaged, tossing clothes out onto the long table. Green silks, black ones... a set of tunic and cloak Obi-Wan had brought, cleaned and pressed and ready for him to need them. He started to shove them aside, then took them in his hands and lifted them out, looking from them to his bodyguard.

Obi-Wan dozed in the chair, wrapped in a towel. His travel-stained linens lay crumpled near the tub, a twin to the clean clothes Qui-Gon held. Qui-Gon knew he looked slender and beautiful in them, at home and easy in a way he'd never been in silks.

Qui-Gon's throat closed and he laid out the brown cloak and cream tunic gently, as tenderly as though they had been the lad himself. He bundled up the unwanted silks and put them away. The gaudy fabrics diminished his bodyguard's beauty instead of framing it, by distracting from the simple honesty of his face and trying to render him a dandy. Like clothing a sturdy workhorse in a racehorse's gaudy trappings.

He went through his own clothing with less care, finally settling on a dark brown tunic and breeches that would complement his bodyguard's sober garb. It was not homespun, but it would do admirably and he would not seem a peacock next to Obi-Wan's clerical habit.

It would offer him an opportunity to display the changes he was experiencing; beginning as he meant to continue. There would be no more lavish but empty displays of wealth and splendor, no more childish demands and churlish behavior. He would cultivate the nobles instead of assuming he had their loyalty.

At the same time, he would not curry their favor like some boy or half-formed noble. He was the heir to the throne and would command their respect, remaining seated and letting them come to him.

The plan had other merits -staying put would allow Obi- Wan to appear completely well, no one would suspect that he was still weak. Not that the boy would let that stop him; Qui-Gon fully believed that should there be a sudden threat to his person, Obi-Wan would come awake from his slumber, sword at the ready. The monk had a devotion to his duty that put Qui-Gon to shame. He would never be able to imitate it, it just wasn't his style or nature, but certainly he could take a lesson from it.

It occurred to him, that they made a good pair, well- balanced between his own flamboyance and Obi-Wan's more sober nature. Perhaps they had lessons they could learn from each other. Perhaps in Anakin, such a balance between the temple and the castle could exist in one person.


	64. Chapter 64

Qui-Gon waited as long as he could before waking Obi-Wan. He had already dressed himself, knowing that to call in a servant would immediately bring Obi-Wan fully awake. He had enjoyed the task; though he had dressed himself while they had been at the temple, it was the first time in longer than he could remember that he had done so at home.

He'd rather enjoyed it -the lack of hands fiddling and fussing, being able to take it at his own speed, which had allowed him to enjoy the way the soft silk fell over his skin, the way the cool material grew warm from his skin. He slipped into his boots and put on his sword belt. A glance in the mirror told him that he cut quite the dashing figure, at least to his own court-trained eyes. He wondered what Obi-Wan would see when the monk looked upon him.

Finally he could wait no longer, the sun having sunk well below the horizon. The banquet would be in full swing, awaiting only its guest of honor to begin the feasting. Resting on his haunches at Obi-Wan's side, he touched his bodyguard gently on the knee, assuming the unexpected weight would wake the boy.

He watched as Obi-Wan's chest and shoulders rose in a deep breath, his weary body stirring slowly toward the surface of consciousness. His lids tightened, lashes catching the light, then opened slowly, and Obi-Wan's hazy gray-green eyes brightened as a smile curved his lips.

Happy to see me. Qui-Gon couldn't breathe, knowing that such warmth on the verge of wakefulness was real. It could not be feigned.

Obi-Wan's arms stirred and he stretched, still holding Qui-Gon's eyes. "Is it time for the banquet already?" His voice was low and husky, throaty with sleep.

"I've chosen your clothes." Qui-Gon saw some of the joy dim and though anxiety rose, he couldn't help himself but feel anticipation over Obi-Wan's pleasure in his choice.

Obi-Wan glanced past him, a line of worry creasing his forehead, then saw the rough homespun fabric lying near the wardrobe on the surface of the long table, and he broke into a grin, re-energized, and bounced out of the chair in a way that reminded Qui-Gon of Anakin and left him chuckling.

"You want me to wear these?"

"I thought you would find them comfortable," he replied a little gruffly. "And I've grown used to them." Obi-Wan's eyes rested on him, he could feel it even as he turned away to fiddle with his scabbard and sword.

He kept his back to his bodyguard, ignoring the urge to turn and watch the lithe, smooth body disappear into the simple garb. Self-restraint was new to him and it pulled at him, impatience and the desire to turn and take what he wanted making him drum his fingers restlessly against his thighs.

But his patience was not without reward; Obi-Wan's fingers curled around his arm, squeezing briefly and the eyes that looked up into his own were filled with quiet, honest thanks. "Your subjects await you, my prince."

Nodding, Qui-Gon led the way, seeing Obi-Wan fall into place a half-step behind him on his left side. He tried not to make too much of Obi-Wan's words, his bodyguard was merely giving him the honor he was due, but he could not stop the thrilling that went through him as the words 'my prince' echoed in his mind. It was with that gentle euphoria in his mind and heart that he arrived at the hall, more than ready to greet his guests.

All eyes turned their way as they entered, following each step as they moved toward the large feasting table. Qui-Gon sat regally and waved his arm, magnanimously indicating they should all sit. He knew what they were thinking, could read it in their eyes that they all assumed he and his bodyguard were lovers. He merely raised his head and looked imperially down upon them all. Let them think what they would, in any case he doubted many would believe the truth.

Obi-Wan seated himself last at the prince's left hand and Qui-Gon let his eyes range about. His father had not chosen to grace them with his presence. Fine; Qui-Gon would deal with that when time granted him leisure. Perhaps in the morning.

The other courtiers and nobles were all assembled, seated in their customary places. He scanned them with new awareness, looking for signs of friendliness or hostility, and met mostly with wary caution, except for a few, including that oily fool Palpatine, who had seated himself in Valorum's seat next to his ward, Amidala. Palpatine smiled at him with avuncular benevolence, his hand resting on Amidala's shoulder.

Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's tension next to him and rewarded the overture only with a solemn nod, concerned that the young woman did not meet his eyes herself.

The first course was served promptly and Qui-Gon ate only sparingly, knowing that Obi-Wan was too full to taste extensive amounts of food. He drank sparingly of the wine as well, even when others pressed it upon him, a slow parade of nobles rising to congratulate him on his successful journey.

"The whelps of Crion fled when they heard of your glorious coming!" Palpatine lifted his glass in toast, eyes going flinty over his cup when Qui-Gon failed to smile. "Surely we shall vanquish them easily should they dare further insolence."

"There is no need to borrow trouble." Qui-Gon heard the silence that fell, many nobles hanging on his words. "There are those here who share Crion's blood. Perhaps his progeny will be less thirsty for the blood of his kindred."

"Nevertheless, you would not want to appear cowardly, your highness." Unflappable, Palpatine lowered his eyes into his cup.

"Do you then equate war with strength and courage?" asked Qui-Gon, determined to appear as cool. "A wise man once told me that there is far more wisdom and courage in not going to war than in joining an enemy in battle."

"Are you sure the man was wise? The words sound to me like a man afraid himself to go into battle."

Qui-Gon smiled predatorily; Palpatine had fallen neatly into his trap. "Perhaps you can ask him yourself what was behind his counsel. The man in question is my father, the king."

Palpatine's smile grew wide and he raised his glass in Qui-Gon's direction as he inclined his head, but Qui-Gon could read the anger in the man's eyes; he had not taken kindly to being bested.

Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan stiffen beside him, knew that his bodyguard had seen the fury behind Palpatine's easy acquiescence as well. He knew that Palpatine was a dangerous man to anger; the duke had many well-placed friends, including Qui-Gon's own father, but it had been worth it to rattle the man. He simply didn't like Palpatine, didn't trust him, hadn't from the start. There was something about the duke that set Qui-Gon's teeth on edge and made his stomach curl.

He was beginning to wonder if they hadn't made an enormous mistake in ousting Valorum. Amidala chose that moment to look up at Qui-Gon with bruised, haunted eyes, and he swallowed at the accusation behind them, his fist clenching on the stem of his goblet.

Qui-Gon let the conversation lapse back to normal, buzzing at the assembled tables, and let several minutes pass before he summoned his chancellor. "I would know the present state of things with Amidala and Valorum's lands." He spoke quietly. "See to it that you are discreet in your inquiries."

"Yes, my prince." The man bowed obsequiously, then leaned in to whisper. "It is my personal belief that things are not as they should be in that quarter."

Qui-Gon nodded soberly, watching Amidala-- she had always been intelligent and observant, often quiet, but keenly interested in the world around her. Now she seemed withdrawn, her shoulders hunched, and did not take part in the conversation around her.

Qui-Gon pushed aside his wine. Suddenly, nothing tasted good anymore.

"Subjects of the Jinn Throne, I thank you for your courtesy and attendance this evening." Qui-Gon rose. "I drink your health, but my journey has been a long and weary one, and I shall retire. The minstrels will play and wine will flow as long as you wish, and let the first of you to seek his bed see dawn before you sleep!" The pretty words flowed well, but in his heart Qui-Gon was deeply troubled; Palpatine had never before seemed so openly arrogant.

It boded ill.

"Come, my bodyguard." He dropped his voice, not disguising the fondness or the tiredness he felt. "The intrigues of court will have to wait until the mo glanced back at Obi-Wan. To his surprised, the monk seemed fine, as if performing his duty had rejuvenated him in a way that the food and rest had not. Nonetheless, Qui-Gon did not attempt to engage his bodyguard in conversation and Obi-Wan, for his part, remained equally silent.

It was not the awkward silence of acquaintances or strangers, but the bearable, comfortable silence found between friends and Qui-Gon took heart in it. It was a simple thing to take such pleasure in, a silent walk through the castle with his bodyguard in step beside him, but he was beginning to learn that the simple things often brought with them a great deal more satisfaction. He considered that perhaps an old dog could be taught new tricks after all.

Despite appearances, a low, relieved sigh came from his bodyguard as they entered Qui-Gon's rooms. Still, the monk insisted on carefully checking the rooms before relaxing.

"I had a bad feeling about the banquet tonight." Obi-Wan muttered, lifting the sheets of Qui-Gon's bed one at a time and looking through them.

"I did also. Did you notice Amidala?"

"Among other things." Obi-Wan stifled a yawn. "Everything seems in order. Perhaps we can discuss it in the morning."

"After I meet with my father." Qui-Gon sighed and threw off his tunic, aiming in the general direction of the wardrobe and missing by several feet. He realized Obi-Wan was reaching under the bed for the dusty roll of blankets that made his meager pallet. "No, don't get that."

Obi-Wan blinked at him tiredly. "No?"

"I'm going to make some changes. You need quarters of your own, and I thought we could partition the room so that the only way into my bedchamber is through yours. But it's going to take time. Still, I don't like you sleeping on the floor," Qui-Gon told him directly. "I want you to take the bed. You're still recovering and you've had a hard journey. I'll call a maid for fresh blankets and I'll rest in the chair. I often sleep the night there if I fall asleep while reading."

He gestured toward his wallowed-out easy chair, its cushions stuffed with soft cotton batting.

"You won't rest well there," Obi-Wan protested half-heartedly.

"I'll rest better knowing that you rest well." Qui-Gon flushed and turned away. "Get in bed before you collapse." He pulled the bell rope to summon a girl, hearing the soft rustle of his mattress as Obi-Wan sat down. He couldn't believe the young man had acquiesced so easily.

A thump followed, and he waited for a second noise for a moment before he realized it had been too loud to come from Obi-Wan's leather boot. Qui-Gon whirled to find his bodyguard had crumpled forward off the bed and lay twitching on the floor.

"Obi-Wan!"

"Don't touch... mattress!" Obi-Wan forced out, then his teeth locked and his body arched, wracking itself in a terrible spasm.

Qui-Gon yanked the bell pull so hard the rope broke and slithered to the floor, sending the brass bell clamoring; he leaped forward and caught the lad, trying to keep him from injuring himself as he thrashed.

"Fetch a physician!" he bellowed at Sira the instant she appeared, and sent her scampering.

"Obi-Wan..." he pushed back one of the lad's eyelids and found the pupil contracted; at least he was breathing. Qui-Gon snapped his gaze up to the mattress, and saw a small glitter; reaching up he snatched the ground sheet away--and the mattress beneath was sparkling with the tips of needles, like a metallic porcupine, barely pushing above the surface of the cloth.

"Sith hells!" Qui-Gon spat. Given the placement, at least three had pricked Obi-Wan when he sat.

Obi-Wan spasmed again, a groan torn from his throat, and Qui-Gon suddenly had other things to think about as his bodyguard thrashed, muscles contracting mercilessly.

He yanked the monk's leggings down, turning Obi-Wan over to examine his backside. Sure enough three tiny puncture wounds marred the pale skin of one cheek, like the bite of a deformed snake. Each mark was surrounded by skin that was angrily red beneath the surface, the colour seeming to spread as he watched.

With another curse, Qui-Gon knelt and placed his lips over the first puncture wound. It was probably far too late, the poison was already affecting Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon cursed himself for being so slow to realize what was going on, but he sucked diligently at each wound, spitting out the liquid onto the ground next to Obi-Wan's shaking body.

"Obi-Wan?" he called out, but silence, loud and complete, was his only answer. Lying Obi-Wan onto his back again, Qui-Gon fumbled at his throat, looking for a pulse or any sign of life.


	65. Chapter 65

Nothing. He felt nothing, no pulse fluttering against his fingers, no vibration of breath passing through the chest beneath his other hand. He stilled himself, praying for the first time in far longer than he could remember, that the gods, whoever they might be, not take Obi-Wan, not punish the innocent monk for Qui-Gon's own sins.

And then he felt it. There, faint, weak and slow, but beating beneath his fingertips was a shallow pulse.

"Live." Qui-Gon pressed his face to Obi-Wan's, not feeling the tears prickle and begin to escape. "I didn't get you back just to lose you now." Vaguely he was aware of Sira running back into the room in a flutter of skirts, of the castle physician hot on her heels, of the babble as they took in the needled bed.

He held Obi-Wan's body against his, stilling the weakening spasms against himself, as the physician used forceps to extract a needle and tasted it.

"Khrelait sap." He scratched into the pouch he carried, working around the Prince. "I'll need a drawing poultice. Go fetch it, girl!"

Qui-Gon just rocked Obi-Wan in his arms, hearing a low, painful keening and realizing it came from his own throat. Khrelait was deadly.

"You sucked the venom and spat?" Urgent voice in his ear. Qui-Gon nodded blindly, feeling the warmth in Obi-Wan's body. Obi-Wan's skin grew feverish quickly as the effects of the poison spread into his system. "It was the best thing you could have done. Meant for you, clearly. The guard is worth his weight in gold."

"Better if it were me." Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes closed, feeling Obi-Wan's pulse quicken erratically against his cheek. "Save him and you will never want." He was giving away too much, showing too much emotion, but he didn't care.

"I'll do what can be done."

Sira returned, pale and out of breath, the poultice clutched in her hands. She thrust it at the doctor.

"You'll have to give me room," he said gently but firmly, and Qui-Gon reluctantly let go. He moved back slightly, sitting on the floor, rocking slightly as he watched the doctor work quickly to apply the poultice to the affected area.

Obi-Wan moaned, and Qui-Gon shivered, watching the vibrant skin turn gray as life drained from his bodyguard by creeping increments. I'll kill whoever did this to you, and if you die, they will scream and beg for death before I end it. He'd never felt such rage, red-hot and overpowering, but through it he heard another moan, eloquent of pain, and an accompanying flicker of distress.

Mundi shielded Shmi and myself at the monastery. Perhaps this hurts him. Qui-Gon took a deep breath and struggled to banish the consuming rage. Plenty of time for it later, after he knew more of what would happen. He didn't know how to control his emotions so easily, so he let his thoughts dwell on Obi-Wan. Replace hate with love. Perhaps the love would succor the lad in the same way the anger seemed to hurt him.

Qui-Gon pictured his monk in his mind-- the joy he'd felt when Obi-Wan opened his eyes after nearly freezing in the snow fields. His pleasure in his bodyguard's recovery. The tenderness he'd felt at seeing Obi-Wan slumped wearily in the saddle.

He could almost feel Obi-Wan ebbing away, and somehow he reached for him, bathing himself in the dimming presence. Stay. Stay. Qui-Gon tried to feed the energy, focusing his own on it as tightly as he could, tightness welling in his throat.

Bitter, dark smoke seemed to choke him, and he clamped his lids shut, refusing to be moved, refusing to let its choking presence into him. He clung to his sense of Obi-Wan, ignoring the taint, and loved him stubbornly, battling fear and despair that threatened to creep in around the edges.

He was dimly aware of falling over, landing with a thump that threatened his concentration; if it had been anything else, it would have sufficed, but he was motivated more than even he would have thought possible and he refused to be separated from the tenuous connection between Obi-Wan and himself.

Voices drifted at the edge of his consciousness, and he caught enough that he knew the poultice had been applied, plantain and comfrey along with pure, clear water. For a long time he remained lost in the dark, swirling smoke, clinging to Obi-Wan. Eventually he realized that the smoke was beginning to clear, and he became aware of his body, sore and tired, and of the heavy smell of the comfrey, made sickly by the cloying sweetness of the plantain.

It was a plainly medicinal smell, bringing with it the dark memories of his childhood and furtive visits to the infirmary during wartime, where men lay dying. He had defied his father and his teachers to go, unable to keep away from the suffering and pain, knowing that it was his father's commands that had brought these men to this place. Knowing one day it would be his lot to command men to their deaths.

It occurred to him: if he could command men to death, why not to life?

He opened his eyes slowly, frowning as he realized he was alone with Obi-Wan, but as he stirred, the physician came into view, blinking sleepily. "Your Highness? Are you all right?"

"Fine," he muttered and waved the man off, feeling too insecure to do this with an audience.

The doctor slipped back into a soft slumber and Qui-Gon, feeling weak as a baby, crawled over to where Obi-Wan lay, still on the floor where he'd fallen. Qui-Gon understood the need to keep him still, but it galled him nonetheless to see his bodyguard relegated to the floor, not even the flimsy pallet to cushion his body this time.

Not entirely sure what he was doing, Qui-Gon placed his hands on either side of Obi-Wan's head and gazed down at him. "Live," he said, voice deep and as commanding as he had ever tried for. "Live," he repeated, with less volume, feeling foolish now.

Incredibly, Obi-Wan's lashes fluttered, then opened, and hazy blue eyes met his. "Yes," a breath whispered through his dry lips.


	66. Chapter 66

Qui-Gon scrambled to fetch a pitcher, then was afraid to use it. "I'll fetch water," he offered, but Obi-Wan's head moved infinitesimally to the side. And perhaps it was best; Qui-Gon's legs felt shaky, as though they would not hold him.

He wondered if his attempts to give his own energy to the lad had worked; Obi-Wan's cheeks had a tinge of pink to them and there was definitely life in his eyes.

He lay down at his bodyguard's side and drew the young man into his arms, feeling weariness slide over him like a cloak. Obi-Wan's breath against his cheek echoed his bodyguard's promise, and Qui-Gon gave in to the need to hold him, nestling Obi-Wan tightly against his body, feeling as though his heart would burst with the combination of sorrow, joy, and tenderness inside it.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely, hardly aware of his words, then mortified by them, but Obi-Wan just smiled with sleepy comprehension and then let his lashes sink shut.

Qui-Gon was too weary to flail himself with guilt for the hastily spoken sentiment; his eyelids felt like lead weights had been attached. Letting his cheek rest against Obi-Wan's, he surrendered ungraciously to the weariness that claimed him.


	67. Chapter 67

Obi-Wan woke once again in the prince's arms.

He stiffened for a moment and then memory came rushing back to him in a flood. He'd been poisoned, needles in the prince's bed, needles that he had not found. Thank the lifeforce he'd been the one to be pricked.

It had been an error of judgment on his part, believing that they had a respite, believing that the Prince's enemies would have waited idly in the time they were away from the castle. He wondered what other manner of trap lay waiting for the prince and vowed to make an extremely thorough examination of Qui-Gon's chambers as soon as possible.

He opened his eyes and looked on the prince's face. Qui-Gon looked tired, pale...and handsome.

He banished the last thought, focusing instead on the tiredness; he had been sure he was dying, could feel the poison in his veins, slowing the beating of his heart, and yet here he was alive, feeling no worse than he had last evening.

He couldn't be sure of course, the poison had been clouding his mind, but it seemed that Qui-Gon had fed him energy, cured him as surely as he'd cured the prince himself after they'd been set upon on Valorum's land. Such things should not have been possible, and yet... he could not deny that both he and the prince lived.

Of course, there was no proof that he had been dying; perhaps it had all been a product of his fevered imagination.

"You're awake!" Obi-Wan looked up into the face of the court physician. The man sounded surprised, confirming Obi-Wan's suspicions.

"Shouldn't I be?" He prompted the man for more information nonetheless.

"By all rights, you should not." The physician frowned, looking at Qui-Gon, who still had not yet stirred. "The Prince. Is he--?"

"Sleeping, I think." Obi-Wan could feel the steady rise and fall of Qui-Gon's breathing and the rhythmic thump of his pulse in his veins.

"Then it's true. You monks do have powers over life and death." The physician made a warding sign, his expression filled with awe. "You took poison enough to kill five burly men, monk. The prince tried to draw it from your body, but what remained should have been more than enough to slay you."

"It was meant for him." Obi-Wan realized he was stroking Qui-Gon's tangled, silvering locks, and made himself stop. "I am glad that it did not achieve its target."

"I don't think the Sith itself could kill you." The physician packed up his meager kit with a nervous laugh. "You'll be weak for a time. I had the maids bring another mattress, but doubtless you'll want to check it. As savage a trap as I've ever seen, and as deadly."

The physician gestured to one side, and Obi-Wan saw the mattress crumpled there, half-leaned against the wall. The deadly needles stuck out like serpents' teeth, winking viciously in the lamplight. It would have to be disposed of with care.

The physician looked down at the sleeping Prince, cradled protectively in Obi-Wan's arms. "Have a care for both your lives, lad. He..." the doctor paused, looking afraid. "He must survive. His father... already he lives beyond the time when he should have lain down to die, and I cannot explain it, just as I cannot explain how you live." He looked frightened abruptly. "Maker willing, the prince will not have to take his father's throne for many years yet."

Before the man could leave, Obi-Wan found his tongue. "You must not tell anyone what has transpired here this night. If you value his life as you say you do, you will not breathe one word of any of it to anyone. Not even the king himself."

"I am not in the habit of divulging my patients' cures to others."

"See that you take special care not to this time."

Hastily the man fled, leaving Obi-Wan to frown and think on his words, waiting for Qui-Gon to wake.

Could this strange near-symbiosis between them be what Master Lucas had been hinting at when he'd suggested that Obi-Wan might not be destined to become a monk of the Order? Was there some special link that drew him and the prince together?

He could vaguely remember the prince speaking of love last night; had Qui-Gon said the words or had they been products of his dreams? Was this why he felt so drawn to the prince, why his vows seemed so hard to keep the further away from the temple he went? He shook his head. Perhaps their destinies were entwined, he could not deny that, not anymore. It looked more and more as if his life would not be spent at the temple; his destiny as a Knight had never seemed so far away.

Try as he might, he could feel no great sadness at the thought.

Still, that didn't mean he had to give up the ways and morals that had sustained him his entire life. His vows had been made to himself as well as to the Order, and he would not break them just because his dreams were not going to be fulfilled.

This court could use an example of a more frugal and less self-indulgent lifestyle, beginning with the prince himself, though Obi-Wan had to admit that the man's sojourn at the temple seemed to have left an impression. It remained to be seen how strong and lasting an impression it was.


	68. Chapter 68

His head felt as though it had been used for an anvil. Resisting the temptation to move, knowing it would only make things worse, Qui-Gon cautiously opened his eyes. How much ale did I drink and what lad have I brought to my-- He blinked as his eyes focused, startled to realize he held... Kenobi.

Thoughtful blue-green eyes moved about the room; his bodyguard hadn't yet noticed he was awake. Memory rushed back in an instant, and he shifted, embarrassed by what he'd done and said-- and Obi-Wan's eyes locked on his. Incredibly, the lad's mouth curved up in a smile, and his body failed to stiffen with rejection of their closeness.

"I had wondered if you would sleep away the morning." His hand moved to brush back a lock of Qui-Gon's long hair. "A bad time we had, and I wonder if you had the worst of it."

Qui-Gon frowned. "But it was you who took the poisoned needles."

"And you who gave your strength to sustain me through the attack of the poison, until the antidote could work."

Qui-Gon knew the words for truth even as Obi-Wan spoke them, and he turned his head into the gentle brush of the lad's fingers, feeling almost shy.

"It is not possible, but you did." Obi-Wan's expression held affection and exasperation, mingled together. "You must not do that again, my prince. If you tried and failed, I could draw you down into death with me."

And I would go more willingly than stay. Qui-Gon lowered his gaze and rolled away from his bodyguard, feeling bone-deep weakness suffuse his body. He had, indeed, given all that he had, perhaps even more than the lad needed.

He could feel Obi-Wan roll to his feet and then blankets were tucked around him. "Let me check the chair and then you can sleep a little longer somewhere more comfortable than the floor."

"We couldn't move you," said Qui-Gon, feeling strangely guilty about Obi-Wan having to sleep on the floor after he'd specifically informed the lad he wouldn't have to anymore.

"It would have spread the poison more quickly," agreed Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon watched, fascinated, as his bodyguard essentially took the chair apart and carefully poked the cushions for any deadly traps.

"I'm not taking any more chances," Obi-Wan told him. "Everyone and everything is suspect until proven otherwise." He fixed Qui-Gon with a serious gaze. "Everyone, my prince. Even Shmi, even your father. Until the culprit is found."

Qui-Gon nodded. Given the events of the past few hours, he could not argue with his bodyguard's caution. His own bed had been booby-trapped with deadly poisoned needles. For the first time since Obi-Wan had keeled over it really occurred to him what that meant and he felt anger roll through him.

Someone -one of his trusted staff- had either needled the bed themselves, or at least conspired to allow it to happen. One of the people who served him day in and day out had turned to the enemy. Was offering false loyalty, was serving him with a smile and then looking to stab him in the back. It made his blood roil.

He looked again at Obi-Wan who was arranging the covers on the chair. His bodyguard had come into his home and had turned his life upside down, had refused his requests and denied his wishes, but Obi-Wan had always dealt honestly with him. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Obi-Wan looked at him, startled.

"For coming back," continued Qui-Gon. "Despite the way I have treated you, you have dealt fairly and honestly with me and your presence is appreciated."

Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable. "It is my ..."

Duty, Qui-Gon finished mentally for him, trying not to let his hurt at that show. Obi-Wan came back to him and helped him stand, slipping beneath his arm to support him as he carefully walked the few steps to the chair. He was feeling quite exhausted by the time he reached it, but he couldn't mind too much; he rather enjoyed Obi-Wan fussing over him.

The chair felt good, a lot easier on his back than the hard floor. He watched with weary interest as his young bodyguard went over the new mattress with a fine-toothed comb, peeling back the sheets, sniffing it with care, striking it heavily with the flat of his sword.

He nearly protested as Obi-Wan climbed on, then bounced heavily, moving back and forth across the surface of the bed. He'd rather sleep on solid flagstones from now on than lose the lad to another assassination attempt.

At last Kenobi seemed satisfied, handling the sheets and shaking them out, then remaking the wide bed. "It is safe to sleep on, Your Highness. But..." Obi-Wan hesitated, then lifted clear, determined eyes to him. "I will sleep between you and the doorway, between you and danger. If someone comes in, they will have to pass me before they may harm you." He hesitated again, cheeks flushing slightly. "If you wish to... copulate, I will search the bed, and then your lover, and I will wait on the floor until you have finished."

Qui-Gon reddened also. "I believe I can set my desires aside until the crisis has passed."

Obi-Wan looked at him and in that moment Qui-Gon could see how tired and shaky the lad still was; just as weary as the previous night before he'd been poisoned, if not worse. Clearly only adrenaline and the few hours of sleep he'd managed were holding him upright.

"I will not hold you to that - it may be some time before the culprit is found and then he must be dealt with." Obi-Wan looked down at the floor between them. "And it may be some time after that before I am willing to trust that you are safe and be willing to look at other arrangements."

Qui-Gon waved his hand dismissively. "We can meet each step as we take it. I wish to make your job as easy as possible from here on in."

"As you wish," replied Obi-Wan with a short bow. "The bed is safe, Your Highness, unless you would prefer to remain where you are for the moment."

"No, the bed looks good," said Qui-Gon, pushing himself up and making it to the bed under his own steam. He lay down with a heavy sigh, bones and muscles stiff and aching from the night spent on the floor.

Obi-Wan crawled in beside him and, feeling content and safe, Qui-Gon once more let sleep take him.


	69. Chapter 69

I wait patiently for my little spy to finish with her duties before she flies back to me. I am eager to hear what news she brings of the prince's health. Has he ended his days in the bed he so thoroughly used?

I enjoy the irony of his bed being the instrument of his death, though I doubt it has even occurred to the little bitch. She is rather dim and were it not that the prince made frequent use of her rather obvious charms, I would have chosen another as my arrow.

I while my time away imagining what it must be like, to lie in bed, where one is supposed to be safe and find comfort and rest, and instead to be stabbed by the prick of a hundred tiny pins. Death would be swift, almost merciful. I spit into the fire and imagine instead that he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and received only a single prick, perhaps two.

Yes, a slow, lingering death, made even more so by the sweet boy attempting to suck the poison from his body.

Thinking about such things makes me hard and I let my legs spread, stroking myself through the heavy silk of my robe. Where is that girl?

At last a soft knock sounds and I bid her enter. She comes in and makes her way to my chair, sliding to her knees in front of me. I scare her and yet she finds me equally intriguing. Both make lovely tools for controlling her-- she works for me on half-made promises. She will hang prettily for my treason, such a perfect little pigeon.

I slide my hand beneath her chin and raise her face. "Well?"

"The bodyguard took the poison." She says it fearfully, but I smile; with him out of the way the prince will be much easier to control and perhaps his death will become unnecessary.

"Did he die slowly?"

"He isn't dead yet, and the physician said it looked as if he might live."

I frown and she cringes, as well she should. While I cared little which of the two died, to have them both live, that is a setback for they will be on their guard more than ever and perhaps even Sira's usefulness is coming to an end. I will have to use her sparingly lest she is discovered before I wish it.

"I'm sorry," she says, simpering. I wave my hand, silencing her.

"There will be other opportunities. As long as you keep me informed." She nods vigorously, eager to remain in my good graces.

Business concluded I let my robe slide open, revealing my current need. A sly look comes into her eyes. "I could help you with that, m'lord," she tells me coyly.

"Hands and knees."

She hastens to obey and I ruck her skirts up, entering her unceremoniously. I slide in easily, far too easily for my pleasure; she is too much of a slut to require foreplay and I wonder if the prince realizes how loose her legs really are.

I rip open her top and pinch her nipples, kneading her breasts with some force, but she appears to be enjoying it. She is moaning and carrying on as if she were near orgasm and anger flashes through me.

She dares to attempt to fool me? I shall show her where her feeble attempts will get her and enjoy myself to the bargain.

I grab her ass cheeks and spread them as I pull out, my next thrust is into her back passage and she screams. Oh yes, that was real.

And she is tight here.

Gripping me, and now the pleasure is mine. I ride her hard as she writhes and twists beneath me.

So, it seems the prince saves this for his boys. Not that I can blame him. I can imagine Kenobi beneath me, and my arousal spikes.

He would truly fight me and it would take all my strength to hold him down, to successfully ride him to the end. Already this cheap girl thrusts back against me and has started her false litany of ecstatic screaddenly I'm tired and can not suffer her presence for another moment. "You will report to me as soon as there is any change."

"Of course, m'lord." Her voice is steady, calm, and for a moment I wonder if I have been too quick to label her dim. But as she lingers, making sure I get an eyeful of her breasts hanging from her torn blouse, I know I have not.

It is such a trial to be a genius among this rabble.

Never mind. Soon I shall rule and all will bow down before me.


	70. Chapter 70

Obi-Wan Kenobi awakened again to a day he should never have seen. His disposition was, perhaps, unsurprising given recent events-- he was warm and cradled in strong arms, tucked under a stubbled chin. He let himself have the leisure of staying there for a long moment before he drew back and remembered duty.

A scan of the bedchamber revealed nothing amiss; everything was as they had left it when they stumbled to bed together. He had remained on the outside even during sleep; the motions that had resulted in him waking in Qui-Gon's arms had not overcome his sense of duty.

He glanced at the prince; Qui-Gon looked better, his features not so drawn and careworn this morning now that rest had restored some of his natural vitality. Obi-Wan lay back on the pillow, relaxing now that he was separate and apart again, thinking hard.

The needled mattress could have been meant for either of them. Most of the court thought he was Qui-Gon's catamite; what better way to leave the prince defenseless and distracted than to rob him of his trusted bodyguard and lover? It might even be reasonable to expect that Obi-Wan would enter the bed first. An intelligent assassin would have considered the possibility carefully.

Obi-Wan frowned, frustrated. An intelligent assassin indeed. After so long, they still had no concrete clues to the identity of the person or persons who had targeted Qui-Gon. That annoyed him; he felt as though he weren't doing his job in more ways than one.

Qui-Gon murmured something next to him, reaching out; his large palm fell on Obi-Wan's side and he stilled, settling back into sleep. The assassination attempt had troubled Qui-Gon indeed. Obi-Wan frowned. His memory was foggy in places, hazed over and riddled with holes from the poison... but he could admit now that he had been well when Qui-Gon held him close and whispered love to him, voice fierce and broken.

Love.

Obi-Wan gazed up at the vaulted stone ceiling. Qui-Gon had never spoken of love to Sira or Bruck, or even to Shmi. Not in Obi-Wan's hearing, at any rate, as far as he could recall. What did love mean to a spoiled princeling? Or to a half-reformed prince who would be king, struggling to grow up, near too late?

Perhaps much. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps somewhere in between. Certainly Qui-Gon cared for him, to be so concerned for his well being and to struggle so hard to adapt his behavior to please Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan knew nothing of love; he'd never been raised to expect it, and thus had never pondered its nature. His affection for his fellows, the respect he held for Master Lucas, the loyalty and reverence he felt toward the Order... perhaps all those things contained elements of love, but Obi-Wan knew none of them were like the love one was supposed to hold for a mate.

Love.

Was what he felt for Qui-Gon Jinn love? He felt affection for Qui-Gon, exasperation with him, fondness and a certain measure of contempt. Loyalty and reverence too, though it might seem contradictory. Protectiveness. How was one to tell esteem for a comrade from the feelings for a lover? It baffled him; he had no compass for it.

He did, however, have the counsel of his teachers to fall back upon. For thousands of years the Order had preached patience as a virtue, as a goal, and Obi-Wan knew that it was sound advice for him now.

On the subject of his becoming a knight, Obi-Wan had never known patience, always eagerly reaching out toward his path, to embrace his destiny. Now that he was no longer sure what his destiny was, it was much easier to step back, to take a wait and see approach to the matter. Everything would be revealed in time, if he could keep both himself and the prince alive.

Qui-Gon stirred again, the hand at Obi-Wan's side squeezing and then sliding with gentle sensuality down to his hip. The long fingers wrapped around his hip and drew him forward. His resistance brought Qui-Gon's eyes open and he was released immediately. Qui-Gon retreated to the far side of the bed.

"Sorry," said the prince, voice gruff, rusty as if unused to such apologies. Obi-Wan knew very well he wasn't.

"You were asleep," he offered. "The movement was unconscious, and had I been Sira or Bruck, or whoever, I'm sure I would have responded readily."

Qui-Gon grimaced, but made no comment.

"As this is to become a permanent arrangement," continued Obi-Wan. "At least until we are sure that we've caught the right culprit this time, we shall have to become used to waking up in each other's arms. I believe it is quite within man's nature to gravitate toward a warm body that shares his sleeping space."

Qui-Gon's bark of laughter startled him and Obi-Wan drew his dignity around him as if it were a cloak.

"I don't think I've ever heard it put quite that way," said Qui-Gon on another chuckle before sobering. "You believe this is related to the attack on Valorum's estates."

"Yes."

"And the attack on Shmi and Anakin?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "On the surface there's nothing to link the two and Crion is not known to have any allies in the kingdom, however, it would be wrong to dismiss the possibility. Certainly, that attack resulted in your being away from the Castle for some time..."

Qui-Gon frowned, considering the possibilities. "It seems likely that the needled mattress would not be the only action this assassin has taken in our absence."

"I think we should expect the worst," Obi-Wan agreed. "Certainly your father seemed predisposed to judge us ill at our return."

"We must speak with him as soon as possible." Qui-Gon frowned. "Best to know what we're up against, if we can."

"We must tread cautiously," Obi-Wan warned. "Yoda is still king of this land, and his word is law. No matter what guides his thinking."

Qui-Gon bit his lip and nodded. "I would not lead an uprising against my own father."

"The needs of the land and the people often require desperate measures, Your Highness. But it is not my place to judge you or to dictate what you must do. Only to offer advice and counsel, and to protect you as best I can should need arise."

"I am glad you're still alive so that you can perform your duty." For once there was no resentment in Qui-Gon's eyes as he mentioned Obi-Wan's duty.

"As am I," Obi-Wan replied, and their eyes held for a long moment.

"I suppose we must face the day," Qui-Gon muttered at last.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, and slipped out of bed to make way for his prince.

Together, still moving with care and feeling the days in the saddle and the weakness of Obi-Wan's brush with death, they dressed to start the day.


	71. Chapter 71

It felt odd moving through the echoing, empty hallways of the castle, as though unseen eyes watched them everywhere. Obi-Wan supposed it was merely a healthy dose of paranoia. He'd never felt so certain before that someone was trying to kill him. And he'd never felt so uncertain of what might happen if they did. The monks taught that the spirits of Knights lived on to counsel their descendants, but if Obi-Wan was not to be a Knight... he shuddered, a chill creeping down his spine. His essence would at least pass into the life-force and be of use in building other things.

Something, though... something felt amiss in the castle, a strange sense of darkness that he had not sensed before... or perhaps he had; its taint felt familiar, nagging subtly at the edges of his consciousness. Perhaps it had always been present, but had strengthened in their absence. It served to provide an additional warning, as though any more were necessary.

He heard the steps long before they encountered anyone. Two people, headed in their direction from the right corridor they were about to meet up ahead. Obi-Wan visually checked the hall behind them and then slipped in front of the prince, not standing directly in front of him, but able to assume that position with a single small step.

"Two men approach, Highness," he said softly in explanation. He could feel Qui-Gon stiffen beside him, knew the prince's hand had fallen to his sword. Obi-Wan himself had one hand on his own sword, the other was ready to flip out the dagger he'd hidden in his sleeve.

The booted footsteps drew nearer, the fine swish of cloth sliding over the marble floor giving away the fact that one of them was a noble.

Both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had assumed a casual post by the time Palpatine and his manservant rounded the corridor. For a moment Palpatine looked surprised to see them, but soon he was his usual obsequious self. Obi-Wan held back his shudder of distaste.

"Your Highness!" Palpatine swept a low bow and then rubbed his hands together. Obi-Wan guessed the man meant the gesture to indicate pleasure at this meeting, but couldn't help but feel as if he and the prince were the main course at a banquet in the Duke's honor.

It certainly didn't put him at ease; there was something about Palpatine that made the hair on his arms stand on end.

"Palpatine," responded Qui-Gon flatly.

"It is an unexpected pleasure to see you and your man both looking so well. I was shocked to hear of yet another attempt on your life. And we were all so sure that with Valorum exiled your problems were over!"

The man gave them both an oily smile. Obi-Wan refrained from commenting and was pleased when the prince kept his own comments to a simple "Thank you for your concern."

His thoughts were buzzing though; the only way Palpatine could know was if someone told him and the only people who knew what had happened were the physician and Sira. He himself had asked the physician to keep quiet.

"Do you suppose Valorum still has supporters? Though I can assure you that I have his daughter well in hand and you'll have no trouble from that quarter. There's also no love lost between Crion and yourself. I must admit I didn't think the man had the balls to attack you in your home though, especially not on the heels of his attack on your consort and your heir."

Obi-Wan kept his face impassive and his body still, not an easy task when every one of his instincts were shouting that this was their man and he should do something permanent about it.

Qui-Gon was similarly calm at his side, though the subtle tension in the prince's broad shoulders let Obi-Wan know that the significance of Palpatine's comment had not escaped him.

"It strikes me as odd that no attempts have been made on my father's life," Qui-Gon intoned distantly. "Only my own, and that of my family and friends." Qui-Gon's eyes turned sharp as lightning, boring into Palpatine. "Does this not seem strange to you, Duke?"

"The King grows old, your highness." Palpatine's eyes never flickered, though his mouth curled downward with rueful apology. "I have always found it my privilege to advise and serve him, but perhaps there are those who believe the firm strength of his ruling hand is balanced by its short remaining duration."

"I am glad indeed that you are not among them." Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shuffle his feet in response to Qui- Gon's sharp words. "Particularly since I have determined that once I am King, your voice will no longer carry a gnat's weight at court."

Palpatine recoiled; this time anger flickered in his eyes. "Indeed, I have always wished your father's reign to last to its utmost." He sidestepped the insult neatly, trying to mask his loss of composure. "And now it would seem that I should continue to offer prayers for his continued health. If you will excuse me, I shall do so." He glided away with icy grace, the snap of his heels crisp, betraying his fury.

Obi-Wan waited until he vanished. "What the Sith are you up to?"

"He should not have known." Qui-Gon's face was white and pinched. "I would not have him target my father for an early death, Kenobi. I will draw Palpatine's wrath to me."

"And a fine job you have made of it. As though we needed another enemy!" Obi-Wan shook his head sharply, exasperated. "But you're right, he should not have known. Only the court physician and Sira..." he paused.

"What?" Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not here," he said softly. "Your library is just ahead -we should be able to talk there."

As they walked, Obi-Wan ran over what he knew. Sira and the doctor were the only ones who knew about Obi-Wan's being poisoned and he himself had requested the physician's silence. Which meant that Sira was the one who had told Palpatine, which led him inevitably to the conclusion that Sira was their spy and Palpatine their traitor. In retrospect, Sira's collusion made a lot of sense; she had free access to the prince's rooms, indeed to his bed. She could easily have been the one to plant the needles, or at the very least let in the person who had.

Palpatine's involvement also made sense; it was clear that the man was ambitious, he'd had the king's ear for quite some time. How long did it take before a man like the Duke wanted to be more than just an advisor? With Qui-Gon out of the way, and with the King's failing health, a regent would be appointed to oversee Anakin's reign. Not unlike one had been appointed to supervise Amidala.

He shivered. All in all it was rather insidious.

Arriving at the library, he made a thorough search of the place and wouldn't let the prince sit until his chair had been carefully examined. "We can't be too careful at this point," he said by way of an apology for the delay, but Qui-Gon waved it aside.

"I put myself in your hands. It has been made abundantly clear that the threat is no illusion."

Obi-Wan nodded and waited until the prince was seated. He stood close by and spoke quietly, voice clear and steady. "I believe, your highness, that I know the identity of your enemy, as well as one of his collaborators."


	72. Chapter 72

"I told the physician to speak of no one about my illness. He seemed inclined to obey; I found him very sympathetic to our situation." Obi-Wan's eyes flared with anger and excitement, a sight that sent breath out of Qui-Gon's lungs with almost as much force as his bodyguard's revelation. "Only he and Sira knew, Your Highness, unless others entered the room while I was unaware?"

"No. No, they didn't." Qui-Gon's fists clenched. "Sira." He breathed her name, rage and hurt thickening his throat.

Obi-Wan nodded, his face compassionate. "I believe she should bear our first scrutiny. There have been other times as well, when she... distracted you, from urgent business."

Qui-Gon felt his cheeks heat, and he rose, pacing with agitation. She and Bruck had bewitched him, and Shmi had nearly paid with her life as a result. Yes. "I am a fool."

"There is no denying you were played as one."

Surprisingly, he found himself chuckling. Anyone but his bodyguard would have tripped over their own feet to tell him he wasn't a fool. The honesty was refreshing, especially when it was paired with compassion, of which there was a generous layer in the solemn eyes that met his own. "And pulling Sira's strings..." he prompted, though he had himself divined the answer.

"Palpatine."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreement.

"There was no other reason for Sira to have told him," Obi-Wan continued. "And he has much to lose if you become king, even before you rubbed his nose in it earlier."

"And he is likely realize that he has mis-stepped when it becomes apparent that others do not know." Qui-Gon frowned. "He will be on guard."

"Then it is time to let others know." Obi-Wan's smile widened irresistibly into a grin, and he reached for a bell-rope. "Fetch the chamberlain," he commanded the girl when she arrived moments later. She curtsied and scampered out. "We will have an announcement made regarding my unfortunate incident."

Qui-Gon felt his lips curve up in a smile. "You are devious. Is it a skill taught at the monastery?"

"If logic is devious, then perhaps it is."

"Word will spread like wildfire," Qui-Gon mused. "If Palpatine did not go straight into company to inquire the opinions of others...

"There is a good chance of it, I think. You infuriated him so badly he's probably still working to regain his composure. Or..." Obi-Wan's excitement dimmed visibly. "Or perhaps he has gone to your father."

Qui-Gon felt his fists clench, heard the crackling of his own knuckles. "I will kill the man myself on the day his treason is exposed," he vowed. "I should kill him now."

Obi-Wan tilted his head, considering it. "We must expose his treachery first."


	73. Chapter 73

The courtiers in his father's council chamber were whispering among themselves of the needled mattress when Qui-Gon arrived and the call of his name turned the room into a hushed wall of eyes, with his father standing at the window, staring out across the land.

Qui-Gon knew it was a bad sign when King Yoda failed to turn to him; so many times before his father had greeted him with open arms, or with a stern and forbidding stare... but never with rounded shoulders, his entire bearing eloquent of hostile dignity, even when a cough racked his narrow, age-bent shoulders.

Never before had Yoda refused to turn and greet his son.

Palpatine was there, face bland and eyes glittering, standing several yards away from the King. Qui-Gon forced himself not to glare at the Duke. As Obi-Wan said, better not to tip their hand. Not even with Sira, though it would be difficult to bear her presence as his servant. Still, they could use the girl as she had been used against them.

Surely his father had heard of the attempt on his life, of his bodyguard's near death. It seemed impossible that not even platitudes were crossing his father's lips. How could their relationship have deteriorated this badly in the time he was not even at the castle?

His eyes narrowed and it took all his will power not to turn his regard back to Palpatine. While the man had always had a voice with his father, never had one person alone advised the King. Yet since his return from the temple, Qui-Gon had seen no other at his father's side.

"Your Majesty," called Qui-Gon, making an elegant bow and then dropping to his knees. Beside him Obi-Wan automatically followed, dropping gracefully down. There was a murmur among the crowd and then they scrambled to follow suit; at odds with the king or no, he was still the crown prince and if he were bowing, they had to as well, perforce.

Palpatine alone had not gone to his knees and Qui-Gon turned to him, raising one eyebrow, but saying nothing. With an ill-concealed sneer, Palpatine slowly dropped to his knees as well; eyes glittering with rage.

"Your Majesty," Qui-Gon called again and his father slowly turned.

Qui-Gon had to catch his breath to keep from exclaiming. His father was pale, almost green from sickness, and the skin dropped around his face, leaving his eyes overlarge. The king blinked slowly, looking around the room with surprise and when his father's eyes met his own, Qui-Gon believed the man had no idea who he was.

Indeed, his father seemed a stranger in that moment, almost someone Qui-Gon had never seen before. An unimaginable departure from the kindly father who had held Qui-Gon on his knee as a lad. Still, there had always been a distance in his father, a remoteness... and it had grown worse as he aged, but now.... Now it was as though the King was all that there was left, and the father had never been. And worse, the King was not the same one Qui-Gon and the land had always known. His father looked hard and brittle, closed completely inside himself.

"All Hail King Yoda," Qui-Gon commanded, and the others in the room echoed him.

"All hail!" They touched their fingers to their foreheads, bending forward reverently.

"I owe him my life a dozen times over for his forethought and wisdom in sending to me a Monk of the Jedi Order as my bodyguard. He has preserved my life that I may do my father's will and follow in his footsteps."

Laying it on a bit thick, perhaps, but a compliment nonetheless, both to Yoda and to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon lifted clear eyes to his father's clouded ones.

Yoda regarded him impassively, and his hazed eyes lifted, looking past Qui-Gon's shoulder as though seeking anchor. Whatever he saw seemed to galvanize him, he drew breath and lifted his chin. "You return to me without your son and heir. You return to me with a worthless kitchen drudge. You return to me with a half-trained kitten who cannot claim the title of a Knight, a kitten you have made into your catamite. You return to me with tales of Xanatos and Crion, left unfought and unpunished for their effrontery in raiding my lands. You return to me with nothing."

Yoda's throat cleared obscenely, a patch of glistening wet landed on the floor in front of Qui-Gon's knee. "Go from my sight."

Qui-Gon raised himself to his full height, aware of the shocked stares of the courtiers. "With all due respect, my father, I hope that you will consider the possibility that you have spoken rashly."

Qui-Gon could see faint nods out of the corner of his eyes, and saw his father noting them too, his bearing growing even stiffer with anger.

"You tread on thin ice, my son. This audience is over."

Qui-Gon was left with his tongue in his mouth, heavy with words unspoken, as Yoda turned away and waved for a servant. "Bring tea." That easily, the King dismissed him from his mind, his shoulders relaxing as he looked away out the narrow window toward the green horizon.

He could still feel the heavy stares of the audience. Some he knew were hostile, others sympathetic. Palpatine looked down on him with barely veiled triumph. And he could feel compassion and strength pouring from his bodyguard.

As he stood, those assembled followed suit like a wave of colored flags blowing in the wind. He stood straight and tall, letting none of his anger and pain at his father's ill treatment show. Another bow to his father and he strode from the room, his bodyguard following in his wake.

A courtier bowed as he passed, the first, but not the last as the others followed and he left the hall with his dignity intact. Somehow it paled in comparison next to the large gulf that had grown between he and his father.


	74. Chapter 74

Qui-Gon woke slowly, feeling warm and content. He was wrapped around Obi-Wan's naked body, his hard length pressed against the monk's buttocks. For a moment he let himself believe that they really were the lovers they were pretending to be. He rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan's head, letting the the hair of his beard tangle in Obi-Wan's short hair.

Four days of this charade, four days of going to bed naked next to his equally naked bodyguard, four days of waking up in each other's arms, aroused and needy and wishing it were not all a sham.

With a sigh Qui-Gon shifted, rolling onto his back and staring with unseeing eyes up into the dark canopy that topped his bed. Both he and Obi-Wan were fully recovered from the poisoning incident. They seemed almost to feed off of each other, as if being in the other's presence generated energy and well-being.

They had kept their recovery quiet, spending most of their time in Qui-Gon's rooms, trying to figure out what Palpatine's next move would be and how to expose him.

And talking.

Qui-Gon had never made an attempt to get to know any of his paramours, except to some extent Shmi; certainly he'd never known them unless he was already bedding them. It was a novelty to delve into his bodyguard's bright and crowded mind.

In the morning's quiet, he could hear Sira's light tread along the servants' passage and he moved to wake Obi-Wan so that the monk was aware when he was kissed; merely a display for Sira's benefit, he wished it was instead his right as Obi-Wan's lover.

Obi-Wan's lashes flickered open and sleep cleared from his eyes gradually. He nodded permission and Qui-Gon leaned in, suddenly aware that he was trembling as he let his lips drift across his bodyguard's narrow mouth, as delicately as the touch of a butterfly.

Obi-Wan lay quite still, not responding, and he could hear Sira draw nearer, so he let his mouth settle, licking along the seam between Obi-Wan's lips, making it look good-- but it tasted good, too, the faint salt of Obi-Wan's sweat on Qui-Gon's tongue, and he felt himself pull Obi-Wan nearer. His balls ached and his erection screamed for attention as Obi-Wan's arms slid languorously around his shoulders, the sweet mouth still unresponsive, and Qui-Gon nearly sobbed, wanting more but holding back-- and then Obi-Wan's mouth opened.

Qui-Gon dove in, unable to hold back, his tongue exploring eagerly in a place that had always been forbidden to him. He slid his hand behind the lad's skull, moving for a better angle, drinking deep from a well he could never touch again. Then Obi-Wan's tongue stirred shyly, touching his, and he couldn't remember that it was a ruse; all he knew was the sweet touch of that tongue and the gentle, awkward motion of the lips crushed beneath his.

Qui-Gon gasped into the kiss, lightning shooting wildly along his spine, and came against Obi-Wan's slender thigh, agonizing, blissful spasms. He collapsed, his cheek sliding along Obi-Wan's, a crushing burden of shame already materializing from nowhere to settle on his heart.

Obi-Wan was breathing heavily, looking at him with wide eyes, and he couldn't read the emotions that played there, making the changeable eyes appear blue and then green and then blue once again. A blush of color stained Obi-Wan's cheeks and his gaze flicked to the foot of the bed.

Following that gaze, Qui-Gon was startled to see Sira standing there with the hint of a smirk on her face. He'd forgotten she was coming, had indeed forgotten that the kiss itself was a ruse for this serving wench's benefit. "Ah, Sira," he managed to say in a light tone. "A bit of breakfast only -something light. And then we'll be wanting riding clothes. We're going to have a picnic by the lake, take in a bit of sun. Perhaps you could arrange for a nice basket for us as well."

Beside him, Obi-Wan shot him a glare.

"Ah, yes," added Qui-Gon, as if he'd just remembered an important detail. "Perhaps you can keep it quiet-- we really aren't up to socializing should others get it into their heads to join us. The ride itself will no doubt be taxing enough given Obi-Wan's lingering effects from the poison."

"Yes, m'lord," she said as she went to the wardrobe and began to pull out clothing.

Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan. "All right?" he asked loudly. "She won't tell anyone, our private tryst is still private."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan replied. "I don't want anyone to know how weak I still am. If they think I am too weak to properly defend you, your enemies are likely to take advantage and make another attempt on your life." Obi-Wan's hand reached up and slid across Qui-Gon's cheek, making him close his eyes. A rumbling noise of pleasure gathered in his chest and was slowly released.

"It is only a matter of time before one of these attempts succeed and where would I be without you, my stallion?" asked Obi-Wan in a loud whisper.

Qui-Gon nearly ruined the whole thing by giving away his surprise at Obi-Wan's words. As it was, his eyes flew open, meeting the amused glance of his bodyguard.

"I'll just get your breakfast, m'lord," Sira told him and then, with a small curtsey, left.

"My stallion?" questioned Qui-Gon once the sound of her footsteps had faded.

Obi-Wan's blush deepened. "It was the best I could come up with," he said shyly.

"Well, I'm sure it sounded suitably besotted to Sira," he replied with a chuckle.

"I hope we didn't lay it on too thick." Obi-Wan chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "About me still being weak, I mean. Palpatine is very intelligent-- the worst thing we could do is underestimate him."

"Sira's not the brightest bauble in the basket though. I doubt she's giving him word-for-word reports. As long as she's convinced you're not yet recovered, that's what she'll report. I expect he'll use this opportunity to send another crew of soldiers after us, perhaps send them ahead to ambush us."

"Hopefully he'll take the report of my weakness to heart and only send a few to do the job, nonetheless we should take a dozen of your guard with us."

"I think we should move more subtly," Qui-Gon countered. "A man or two, maybe three in concealment is enough-- Panaka and two hand-picked companions should suffice. We don't want to show our hand too early."

Obi-Wan blinked at him. "There is much in what you say, but I would not risk you." He sounded determined, but a little hesitant.

"Together, you and I could fight a dozen men and triumph." Qui-Gon smiled involuntarily, picturing how they must look fighting side by side.

"That's no reason for risk," Obi-Wan grumbled.

"Raising a small army against a Duke without my father's consent is rather more than risk," Qui-Gon pointed out dryly.

"Very well." Obi-Wan sounded dismayed. "But you must promise, my prince, that if it comes to a choice between my life and your own... you will preserve yours. Or I will not agree." He lifted his chin firmly, eyes cool grey and stubborn.

Qui-Gon hesitated. "Very well." He could not leave the land to Palpatine, no matter how much the alternative might cost him. "It will not come to that," he tried to reassure them both. Obi-Wan shrugged, but seemed satisfied.


	75. Chapter 75

Obi-Wan tried not to let dread taint the adrenaline flowing through his system as they rode out into the morning sunlight, knowing that fear could slow his reflexes and impede the clarity of his thinking.

Qui-Gon's reasoning had much to recommend it, and if he had not been persuaded he would not have agreed, but he wished they were riding forth with an army at their backs, not just three men-- wherever those three men were. Panaka had positioned them earlier to wait, and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were riding alone.

He felt vulnerable and unsettled, and not all of it came from the confrontation they expected.

As if he could hear Obi-Wan's thoughts, the prince shifted in his saddle, turning to speak, voice quiet and serious. "About this morning...my apologies."

"No apologies are necessary; no violation occurred," Obi-Wan told him, happy his voice didn't quaver. It was, after all, the truth.

Nonetheless, it disturbed him. Not only Qui-Gon's rapid passion that had quickly risen to orgasm, but his own involvement in provoking that climax. He had responded to Qui-Gon with passion of his own, letting the desires of his body take control of him. He could still feel the tingle that had gone through him as he had reached out and let his own tongue slide along Qui-Gon's.

The soft touches they had indulged in over the past few days in a effort to lend credence to the belief that they were indeed lovers, had not left Obi-Wan unaffected. Indeed, they had been very much affecting him, leaving him open to desires and wants hitherto unheard of.

And they could not be stopped or nipped in the bud. If today's experiment came out as they planned, there would be more playacting to do in front of Sira, and they must maintain the facade of sexual involvement.

Obi-Wan sighed. If he were not more careful, it would grow to be more than a facade, and he would not have that. It would cost him his pride, his self-esteem, his final chances at becoming a Knight... and it might cost Qui-Gon his life, in a crucial second of distraction. If Sira had been carrying a knife this morning...

A shudder rose through Obi-Wan's spine, and he squared

his shoulders. "It is only a physical function, one that I participate in for the sake of duty." He knew the harsh words would hurt the prince, but it was best not to encourage him. "You may do as you like in the interests of verisimilitude, but remember. I am Jedi."

"I remember." Qui-Gon's voice was soft with regret. "Even when my body forgets, I remember."

"Good." Obi-Wan did not relent, spurring his horse forward. Sith, but the man was irresistible now that he had learned respect for the Jedi way. It hurt Obi-Wan's heart to see him deprive himself so, torturing himself with the meaningless tease of a charade put on for their enemies. He did not deserve such cruelty. But sometimes, cruelty was an inevitable element of what would ultimately prove to be kindness.

They neared the woods, and its concealing shadows would necessitate the resumption of that cruel pretense. "Remember, my prince. Be aware at every moment, especially of archers." They each wore light mailshirts beneath their tunics, but to don more armor would have been a dead giveaway that they expected trouble.

Obi-Wan glanced about alertly, then let his features subside into a look of contented enjoyment. "It is a hot day, a fine day for a swim." He shot a glance under his lashes that he hoped looked adequately flirtatious, and Qui-Gon looked stunned, and then swallowed hard.

"I could use a cold swim," he muttered, spurring Sebulba ahead.

"The view is most enticing from here, my prince," Obi-Wan called. He feared his attempts at flirting were as insipid now as they'd been this morning, but really had never tried to act as a lover before.

Aside from which, the view was enticing. Qui-Gon made a splendid figure in his saddle as he rode easily. It would be quite easy to become mesmerized by the rise and fall of the prince's buttocks; indeed, Obi-Wan could feel his body responding to the sight.

He remembered the cold of the water the last time they had visited the lake and the cold of the snow as he'd lain in it during his penance. Both served to cool his body's response and he set his mind firmly on the task at hand, scanning the trees for any hint of their ambush.

The space between himself and Qui-Gon had grown and Obi-Wan spurred his mare forward until they were again riding side by side. He let his leg brush along Qui-Gon's and ran his hand along the prince's arm, so that any audience they had might believe that it was merely passion that had spurred him to catch back up to the prince.

Beneath the cover of leaning in for a kiss he looked carefully behind them and then whispered, "We need to stick together." Qui-Gon nodded and closed the small distance between their mouths.

Obi-Wan kept his lips firmly closed and his attention on their surroundings; it would have been easy to slide into the kiss, to forget where they were and what they expected to be lying in waiting for them, but that way led to death.

Sure enough, as they pulled apart, the first arrow narrowly missed their faces, burying itself deeply in the neck of Obi-Wan's horse.


	76. Chapter 76

"Cover!" Obi-Wan shouted, rolling clear of his dying mare, a knife already in his hand as he hit the ground, zeroing in on the point from which the arrow must have flown.

Qui-Gon lay heavily on the forest floor next to the dying mare, and Sebulba whinnied nervously at the scent of blood and broke into a run, leaving him. Obi-Wan's heart shot into his throat; the prince wasn't moving.

Obi-Wan's arm drew back and snapped forward instinctively, launching the knife forward, and he heard a cry; two men burst from the underbrush, with another behind, cursing and clutching at his scarlet-stained shoulder. One of them made straight for Qui-Gon, the other for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan dodged to the side, desperate to put himself between the injured prince and his attacker-- but before he could arrive, Qui-Gon launched himself up with a roar and dove at his startled assailant, who barely managed to bring his blade to bear before Qui-Gon was on him, battering at him with his heavy sword.

Obi-Wan spun lithely and faced his own man, launching a lightning quick strike toward the man's undefended left arm, but he was blocked, and then the battle was begun, with the third man struggling to draw his bow and find a shot in spite of his wounded shoulder.

"Watch the archer!" Obi-Wan shouted in warning; he could not move as quickly as he would have liked under the mail, but Qui-Gon had insisted.

The two swordsmen were good; Obi-Wan found himself being forced to the side, where the archer could get a clear shot, and he fought harder, aware of the man drawing the string back to his cheek. His wounded arm was shaking, but this was close range; it was hardly likely he would miss his shot.

Before the archer could shoot another figure appeared behind him, drawing a length of rope around his neck and pulling him down, and behind him were two more figures, both with their swords in their hands, running toward the fight.

With renewed strength Obi-Wan quickly dispatched his man, moving to Qui-Gon's side to run through his opponent. He didn't, however, have any time to rejoice their victory before five more men advanced on them from the west.

Five on five seemed favorable odds until another group of men met them from the east, forcing the prince and his men to form a loose circle, fighting back to back.

"Next time will you listen when I advise more men?" Obi- Wan panted, hard-pressed but still optimistic.

"No!" Qui-Gon answered, managing a laugh in spite of the battle, and Obi-Wan found himself laughing into the grim face of his own opponent.

Obi-Wan's laughter didn't last long. Palpatine must be hard pressed to send out such a force; desperate and confident at once, and with increased respect for Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's prowess in battle. These were all fine fighters, much more skilled than the first force that had menaced them.

Obi-Wan couldn't spare the breath for further conversation. That Palpatine could muster and dispatch so many men on King Yoda's own estate without rousing comment... it was a sign that the corruption had spread even further than Obi-Wan feared. Not even Panaka had seemed to know-- if they could trust him. Obi-Wan glanced nervously toward the dark-skinned man fighting hard at Prince Qui-Gon's left shoulder. If he were not loyal... but Obi-Wan could not be everywhere at once, and had as much as he could handle here on Qui-Gon's right.

His opponent ducked for his ankles, tempting Obi-Wan to flip right over his head, but that would have left Qui- Gon undefended, so he parried instead. The mail he wore was not conducive to gymnastics in any case. If Panaka were not loyal, he and his three handpicked men could have come in against Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. Who would ever have known? And yet, the ruse of protection and a result of trusting Panaka might benefit Palpatine later, in some unseen way.

Obi-Wan hated intrigue; he had been raised away from it and the plots and strategies of it came only painfully to him.

He slid through an opening in his opponent's guard, blade dripping red when he pulled it back; between them they had dispatched perhaps a third of their opponents. One of Panaka's men was fighting with an arrow through his jerkin; not far in by the looks of it, perhaps stopped by chain mail. Obi-Wan cursed. The archer was climbing now, looking for a vantage point; he'd already thrown his boot knife.

"Cover your flank," he snapped to Qui-Gon, ducking inside the rough circle of men, and found what he was seeking at Panaka's belt-- a heavy hunting knife, ill-balanced for throwing, but he took it anyway and hefted it in his hand. The archer wasn't looking, confident of his comrades; Obi-Wan tested the knife in his hand and launched it with savage force. This time it took the man's throat and he toppled out of the tree.

Obi-Wan bulled back into the front lines, resuming his defense of Prince Qui-Gon; several more men were down, including their own ally who'd been shot.

"At least we've got the proof we need!" Qui-Gon sounded dangerously near being winded.

"Too large a risk to take for confirming a slave girl's guilt!" Obi-Wan skewered a man diving straight for the prince's chest. Furthermore, if they didn't dispatch all these men, they wouldn't be able to use Sira as they'd planned. And who knew if the woods might contain watchers who hadn't joined in the battle?

"Save your air for-- Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan saw the feathered shaft diving for the Prince's throat a second too late. He lunged for it with his sword, already knowing he would miss. The air felt like molasses, his whole body heavy, moving in slow motion. But Panaka had seen it first; his body was already in motion, and the shaft sank deep into his flesh just below his throat, where the mail shirt he wore opened to let his head emerge.

Obi-Wan cursed; he was in time to catch Panaka and drag him inside the shrunken circle; the man's breath came hard and he looked gray. There was no time to attempt a healing; Obi-Wan had to get the second archer.

"Got another... knife... in my boot." Panaka's eyes glazed; he struggled for breath. Obi-Wan snatched for it the instant he made out the painful words; half-turning on his heel he searched, finding the second archer in the trees. Their eyes met across shaft and blade even as Obi-Wan's wrist snapped forward again and a second arrow left the bow, flitting straight for his eye. He jerked himself and Panaka to one side and it thudded harmlessly into the soft loam, torn and scuffed by their boots.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon sounded hard-pressed, and he laid Panaka down, hoping uselessly that the man wouldn't be trampled, and that he might survive until Obi-Wan had leisure to try a healing or could get him back to the palace physician. He'd proved his loyalty, probably at the cost of his life.

Obi-Wan's thoughts flew through him as he bounded to Qui- Gon's side; the Prince was bleeding from a cut across his forehead, but still fighting well, though blinking blood out of his eye.

"I thought you were shot." Qui-Gon's sword ran with fresh blood.

"Not me. Panaka."

Qui-Gon cursed, stabbing at another man-- it was growing clear that they would take the day, saving the arrival of any more archers; the last few men they faced were wary and battered.

"Surrender, and throw yourselves on the King's Mercy!" Obi-Wan tried, and achieved nothing but deepening the snarls on the battle-hardened faces. The men pressed harder, as though courting death; they must know they were bound for defeat.

"Save one for questioning," Obi-Wan snapped even as he deflected a heavy blade and snapped a kick into his opponent's midsection, sending him flying onto the bloodsoaked ground. He stabbed sideways at Qui-Gon's opponent instead, severing a hamstring, and Qui-Gon impaled the man through the belly as he fell, metal blade grating horribly on torn chain mail.

Almost that soon, it was over. Qui-Gon's men rallied, and the battleground was suddenly silent except for the screeching of a crow and the rustling of the breeze in the leaves, indifferent to petty political struggles.


	77. Chapter 77

Time seemed to suspend, hanging them in the moment and Qui-Gon knew he would carry the image of the carnage with him for a long time. He'd participated in other battles, viewed many a battlefield, but never had he been betrayed by his own people as this one proved him to be.

Bodies were strewn about the forest floor, blood covered everyone's clothing and weapons; his bodyguard's light creams were stained crimson and his own hands bloody. There were only three men still standing.

He could hear his own breath coming in sharp gasps, and he blinked as a drop of bloody sweat dripped into his eye. He wiped it away absently.

The moment was gone, replaced by frantic movement as Obi-Wan rushed to Panaka's side, barking out orders to the remaining guard. Qui-Gon noted that it was Solo, Panaka's lieutenant, and the man who had fallen was Lando, his second-lieutenant. Had these two been the only ones Panaka trusted? Or was it merely that they were the best?

Qui-Gon moved to the bodies of their attackers, kicking them over so that he could see their faces. Though they wore no colors and their uniforms bore no insignia, he recognized them all as members of his own army.

At last he came to the last man Obi-Wan had felled. Baleful blue eyes glared up at him, daring him to do his worst. Hauling the man up by his chain mail, Qui-Gon shook him. "How dare you?" he demanded. "How dare you lift arms against me? Does your word and your loyalty mean so little? Does your life mean so little?"

"Qui-Gon!" He became aware of Obi-Wan, his bodyguard's hands holding his, trying to stop him from choking the life out of the villain he held.

"We need him alive."

Qui-Gon growled, it would have given him great pleasure to kill this man with his own hands, though not as much pleasure as it would give him to do the same to Palpatine.

"Tie him up -we can question him later. Panaka still lives and I could use your help keeping him alive."

Qui-Gon nodded. He tied the prisoner's hands and feet together, taking great relish in making the man cry out as he tightened the ropes. Letting him drop to the ground without further thought, Qui-Gon rushed to Obi-Wan's aid, and found him cradling Panaka in his arms. The captain had the ashy-gray lips of advanced blood loss, and his eyes were vague.

"...Prince." His lashes fluttered. "Alive." A smile curved his lips weakly. Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan's hands, struggling to stanch the bloody wound.

"Qui-Gon... I can't..." the words were a whimper; Obi-Wan looked chalky-white with strain.

Qui-Gon reached to touch Obi-Wan instinctively, hands falling on the young monk's shoulders; he felt the quiver of tension rack Obi-Wan. Panaka's breaths were slowing along with the flow of blood; it was only a matter of time.

"Yes, Captain. Your mission has succeeded." He bent over the dying man, still keeping a steadying hand on Obi-Wan.

"Give Solo command...." Panaka winced in pain, chest hitching. "Can trust him."

Qui-Gon nodded, eyes filling. "Your family will know that you have not died in vain. I will see to it that they have a handsome pension." Qui-Gon felt his heart swell and rise in his throat. "You will be remembered as a hero."

"Tell..." blood bubbled up at the corner of Panaka's lips. "wife..." his lips stilled, and Obi-Wan exhaled, a low, sobbing breath.

"I couldn't!" He stared at Qui-Gon, blood smearing his arms and face, stricken. "I tried, Qui-Gon... I tried..."

"You saved those of us who lived." Qui-Gon folded Obi-Wan into his arms, blood and all. Thank the life- force, it wasn't him. He looked over Obi-Wan's shoulder to Solo, who stood quietly, staring down at the body of his fallen captain. "Solo, your captain's dying order means that you're in charge now. I need you to cover the traces of battle, dispose of the fallen discreetly, and question our man. We'll need a story to explain Panaka's absence."

Obi-Wan pulled out of his arms and Qui-Gon resisted a moment before he realized how Obi-Wan might interpret that. "We can't leave all that to one man," chided Obi-Wan. "We'll interrogate the prisoner as a team and then we can all work to cover the evidence of this battle."

Obi-Wan was looking at him as if expecting to be countermanded, but Qui-Gon only inclined his head. His bodyguard had a point -it would take one man more time than they had to dig a grave big enough for all the men who were dead here today. It grieved him that Panaka and Lando would also be buried quietly and in secret, but he vowed to mark their grave and eventually return their bodies to the palace for a proper burial with full honors once the scourge was dealt with.

"If it pleases, my lord," Solo said, interrupting his train of thought. Qui-Gon nodded at his new Captain to continue. "The Captain explained our leaving the castle today by claming orders to scout out the border between our lands and Crion's. You could announce that I was sent back with the news that the captain and Lando were staying to keep an eye on things, leaving me in charge in the meantime."

"Good man, you've a head on your shoulders as well as fighting ability, I see," noted Qui-Gon. "Panaka has always promoted deserving men within his ranks."

"He was a good captain." Solo's voice held a trace of emotion and Qui-Gon suddenly noticed the pale face.

"Days like these leave little time for mourning," he said, not without a little compassion.

Solo nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand my duty. It is an honor to serve you as the Captain of your Guard."

"An honour you have earned." Looking over at Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon caught a slight smile and approval in his bodyguard's eyes and had to stamp down on a surge of pleasure. He had been commanding men before Obi-Wan had even been born--he hardly needed the lad's approval for doing so now.

"Well let's see what we can get out of this cur," he said brusquely, nodding at the man on the forest floor.


	78. Chapter 78

Solo accompanied him, walking with an easy slouch that spoke of either carelessness or deadly grace-- and having watched him fight, Qui-Gon knew it was the latter, not the former at all.

The new captain toed their prisoner with one battered boot, turning him over. "Who are you working for?" he snapped, not bothering with preliminaries. The man simply sneered, unspeaking, his face a mask of dirt and sweat.

"Would you like to do this the easy way or the hard way?" Solo inquired, looking as though his face were carved from granite. He squatted to meet the man's eyes. "We can get answers here, or we can get them back at the castle. Here, it's a nice chat. At the castle, we put you on the rack. Which is it gonna be?"

The pale eyes flickered in the dirty face, scanning Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for signs of mercy. Qui-Gon shook his head, impatient. A fool. Well, at least that was heartening, in a way-- perhaps only the less intelligent among the ranks were turning coat.

"Neither," the man snarled, squirming against his bonds. "You can't take me back to the castle. I heard you."

"Oh, now that's where you're wrong." Solo grinned, looking both mischievous and chilling. "If I wait till dark I can get you in so slick nobody'll ever know you're there, and have you down in a dungeon cesspit before you have time to break a sweat. Now talk."

Their prisoner swallowed, but his mouth stayed shut, his chin rising with defiance.

"We'll have to question him in the castle." Solo stood up briskly, slapping his palms on his soiled jerkin. "He's more afraid of someone else than he is of us. It'll take awhile to change that." Now that the prisoner couldn't see him, he let his face soften, revealing reluctance. "Your call, Your Highness."

Qui-Gon thought. "We should bind him and hide him-- perhaps in the upper branches of a tree, well-gagged, so he can't cry out for aid, and come back for him this evening, when the rest of our business is finished and we can smuggle him into the castle."

"Good thinking." Solo seemed not to notice the insolence of omitting the prince's title; Qui-Gon could already tell he was a man who didn't put much value on formal procedure.

"There's a ravine nearby, you know the one?" Solo quirked a brow and Qui-Gon nodded. "With a little work we can put the bodies at the bottom, then pry free some rocks near the top of the bluff and let the ground do most of the work for us. Nobody's got a shovel. I say we go with that."

"We'll bury Lando and Panaka separately," Qui-Gon decided, "but that's an excellent plan." He reached out to snag their prisoner's arm, hauling him upright and shaking him. "We'll deal with this garbage first."

"That's Tarkin," exclaimed Solo. "I didn't recognize him out of uniform and all roughed up. He and a couple dozen men are supposed to be off scouting over the border near the other end of Valorum's estate!"

Qui-Gon looked across the man to his bodyguard.

"Convenient," said Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon nodded.

"Indeed. How long ago did this scouting party leave?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but it was before you were attacked by Valorum's men."

"Damn it to Sith hell!" Qui-Gon let the man drop again. Obi-Wan was immediately at his side, a soothing hand on his arm. "He's been playing us all along!"

"It would appear so," agreed Obi-Wan.

"How can you be so damnably calm! He's played you as easily as me."

"And what good will getting angry do me? Or you?" asked Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon looked into his bodyguard's face, the intelligent, changeable eyes calm, but intent. "We need to be smart now-- to make the right decisions. Letting anger and hurt and fear get the better of us will not lead us to those decisions."

"It galls me that he has been under our very noses the whole time, pulling our strings. I am the Crown Prince - he should have some respect. And all that is holy only knows how he's influenced my father."

"Then stop playing into his hands," suggested Obi-Wan. "Stop reacting as he would have you react. Be cool, be calm, be smart and you shall win the day, my prince. He is no match for you, not when you block out all else and really try, really focus. If you do not let yourself be distracted, you are invincible."

"The monk's right, Highness," added Solo. "I've seen you oust more than one bodyguard and I've fought at your back and by your side in numerous skirmishes. You've always led us to victory."

Though he knew what they were doing, Qui-Gon still felt his courage bolster. Obi-Wan was right, clear heads would win this secret battle and then they would bring Palpatine's treason to light. He tucked away his anger and looked forward to that day. "Let's get this garbage trussed up then."

"Aye, aye, sir." Solo saluted smartly, a cheeky grin on his face.

Obi-Wan's response was more subdued, but his smile warmed Qui-Gon through.


	79. Chapter 79

Obi-Wan watched as Captain Solo used one of their enemies' bows to shoot a rope over a high, study branch. Both the new captain and Qui-Gon appeared to be enjoying the adrenaline in the aftermath of the battle and were focused on the tasks at hand.

Obi-Wan contented himself to watch them, keep an eye on their surroundings, lest a second wave appear. He couldn't shake the sadness that welled in him at the loss of life. Panaka's death in particular bothered him. He couldn't help but believe that if he'd tried harder he could have saved the man.

He obviously had the ability to heal; was he so focused on the prince that he could help no one else? Or did healing Qui-Gon really have nothing to do with his own innate healing ability and everything to do with the way their destinies seemed to be intertwined?

He couldn't be sure, but Panaka's death seemed to indicate the latter. He could touch Qui-Gon's life force, but the captain's had simply slipped through his fingers when he tried to hold and feed it.

He sighed; he must absolve himself of the deaths that had happened here today. None were his fault; he'd advised bringing a larger force of men and acquiesced to the logical need of keeping their knowledge private. And men had survived, especially the prince. Obi-Wan had given his best effort, and had no shame to bear.

He sent a silent prayer of sorrow and gratitude into the life force for the men who had died. He hoped that the mission they had died for would be accomplished soon, so that their spirits could rest peacefully.

As he'd instructed Qui-Gon, now was time to care for the living. He sighed and took hold of the rope, helping haul their captive into the branches. He had misgivings about leaving the man here like this, but there was only so much three of them could do, and guarding him would cost them a great deal of time and effort.

At any rate, he was securely bound and gagged-- he would not be shouting to alert any potential companions who came out to investigate what had happened. The tree was tall and his rising body already disguised by the thick branches. Obi-Wan swarmed up the thick trunk, ruefully ignoring his already aching muscles, and secured the rope to its branch, making sure the branch was steady and the rope unfrayed. All looked to be well. The man coup> Regardless of the need for caution, it took all three of them to move Obi-Wan's dead mare and topple her over the side. He winced as the carcass went down in a tangle of stiff limbs to lie atop the corpses of the enemy fighters. He stepped forward before Solo or the prince could begin to send rocks and other debris down after the bodies. "Just a moment for a few words," he said quietly.

"They were traitors," growled Qui-Gon.

"They were still men," countered Obi-Wan, "and had they been tried in your court a priest would have prayed over them as they died."

"Very well, but be quick about it."

He recited the litany for the dead and closed his eyes, dropping for a moment into a light meditation and reached out to the forest, touching briefly the life force all around him. He hoped that something positive would come of the energy these men's death's had released, bringing good from bad.

He felt anger surge through him, that someone would manipulate and warp the world around him, just for his own greedy benefits, but he fought it down. He suspected that Palpatine had been playing with people's lives for a long time now and his own efforts would be better served in being a positive force.

"We should cover them now," Obi-Wan said, opening his eyes and finding a large rock. He hefted it and sent it crashing down the ravine, not waiting to watch it drop before turning to find another. The prince and Solo were soon following suit; rocks, branches, dirt, leaves, all were sent plummeting down to cover the bodies of the men sent to kill the prince.

Several buzzards that had begun to circle the ravine cawed angrily at them, but they continued their task undeterred. Solo pried away at a dead tree, its roots firmly locked into a ledge of precarious soil and rock, and before Obi-Wan could warn him, he dislodged it, sending an avalanche of stone and dirt down. Solo hopped nimbly away from the crumbling edge and Obi-Wan shook his head.

A risktaker. That had both advantages and disadvantages; daring could tip a battle in either direction. He could only hope that Panaka had correctly estimated Solo's good sense and that he'd use it to weigh acceptable versus unacceptable odds.

The slide from Solo's tree was big enough to trigger more, and it covered the bodies; when the dust settled the buzzards were left to caw in disappointment and eye the other bodies, those of Qui-Gon's men. Obi-Wan shuddered at the scrutiny of the flat black eyes and stayed protectively close to the bodies. He cast a glance at the sun, filtered through leaves and branches. They were nearing midafternoon already.

They had no shovel, so they had to make do with their hands, and in some cases, with Solo's battered boot-dagger to cut away roots and pry up stones as they worked to bury their brothers in arms. It would have been easier if they could have used their swords, but Obi-Wan deemed it best to keep them ready in case of fresh attack rather than blunting or breaking them on stones.

Finally the hole was dug, and they laid the men in it soberly, covering them with a thick layer of stones and then packing forest loam in atop them. Solo looked pale and sad underneath the dirt on his face, and Qui-Gon also seemed pensive. They worked in silence, sweating and itching with dirt down their collars, but finally the site looked all but normal, with fresh loam packed over the grave and the whole area strewn with last year's dead leaves.

Obi-Wan stood back, trading a glance with Qui-Gon, and this time there was no hesitation before Qui-Gon stepped forward to speak. "These men have given their lives in service to the Jinn Throne. They are heroes and the life-force will welcome them home. I pledge my life that theirs have not been given in vain. I will be a good king and I will thwart the evil that has arisen to stain the land."

"Let the blessings of the life force shine on the bodies of our comrades until we may return to give them proper burial. Let no animal touch their bodies." Obi-Wan reached into the life-force and caressed its shape, forming a protective aura around the grave-- not even worms would pass his barrier to touch the bodies that lay inside. It was a simple weaving, one that would be respected by all natural creatures but man. Hopefully, no man would stumble across the corpses either until Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan could send a guard of honor to fetch them for the proper ceremonial interment their heroism had earned.

"No disrespect intended to the dead or either of you, but the sun's moving fast across the sky." Solo's voice broke into the silence that had wound around them in the wake of the burial.

"He's right," said Qui-Gon, looking over at Obi-Wan. "If we had truly been swimming, we would be making our way home shortly."

"We need to go dip into the lake," suggested Obi-Wan. "Get clean and eat, or at least dispose of some of the picnic, in order to keep up appearances. Solo can bring Tarkin back under the cover of darkness." Obi-Wan looked around with a frown. "Sebulba seems to have...."

Any reply was forestalled by the sound of a crack, as if a tree had been hit by lightning. All three turned toward the tree where they had left Tarkin trussed up.

"Sith." Qui-Gon spoke first; Tarkin's broken body lay like a sack of laundry on the ground, a thick splintered branch poking through his back.

Obi-Wan rushed forward, touched the man's throat to verify that he was dead, and lifted the frayed rope. "He swung himself till he worked it through." He glanced ruefully up into the tree. "There was a dead branch below and to the left, he struck it on his way down. I can see the blood from here. He was swinging hard; he must have meant to break the rope." Sith was right; now they'd lost their only source of information.

"He must have known he wouldn't survive the fall. We hung him high." Solo looked up into the tree also. "I wonder if he was more afraid of us, or whoever sent him out here."

"We'll never know now." Qui-Gon looked grim. "We'll have to bury him too. Let's move fast before the castle notices our absence."

They tossed Tarkin into the ravine too and worked till he was covered. Finally it was done, and they looked at one another wearily, exhausted and bloodstained. "I think a wash will do us all good," Obi-Wan suggested. "I saw Sebulba's tracks; they led toward the lake."

The three of them set forth, following the trail of the frightened horse.


	80. Chapter 80

To Obi-Wan's relief, they found Sebulba by the lake, trying awkwardly to drink around his heavy ornamented bridle. That was one less worry; Obi-Wan had feared he'd wandered home to the stables, which would have forced more explanations.

Qui-Gon stripped the headgear off the horse and tethered him while Obi-Wan and Solo stripped. The lake looked inviting; Obi-Wan wanted desperately to wash the blood and filth off himself.

For once he didn't feel self-conscious undressing in front of Qui-Gon. It was probably Solo's presence and the heaviness of the recent deaths on his heart, both ensuring that there would be no unwanted glances or touches, but he almost wished Solo were gone and the attack hadn't happened. That way he would have known if the prince's attempts to restrain himself were just as earnest as they seemed, or if they were as shallow as he sometimes feared.

Of course, he wished the attack hadn't happened at all, regardless. Panaka's loss was a cruel blow to their small reserve of trusted allies. They could not afford to lose a single ally, and yet today they had lost two. They would have to find more support, regardless of Qui-Gon's delicate conscience and his reluctance to raise a force against his father. Forewarned was forearmed. Ignoring the opportunity to act would be a devastating mistake.

Qui-Gon's last audience with his father... King Yoda had been so distant, Obi-Wan wasn't sure if the man even knew where he was, let alone who the people in the room with him were. It was possible that Palpatine had done something to him and was manipulating him. Surely the King had been more outgoing, if frailer, when Obi-Wan had first arrived? He hated to think that the animosity that now existed between the prince and his father was a natural phenomenon.

Realizing the other two had waded in already, Obi-Wan placed in clothing in a neat pile and waded into the chill waters. He went in until the water slid against his hips and then dove deeply, pulling himself down further with long strokes. Holding his breath as long as he could, he enjoyed the way the icy water cleaned his skin, purifying him of the stench of the battle.

He broke the surface with a gasp, the sun warming his skin with a gentle touch. There was so much to do; taking even this much leisure seemed shameful, but he had to scrub himself clean to be able to complete his duties, so he did, splashing handfuls of silky water over himself.

Qui-Gon and Solo did the same, washing efficiently. After a few moments, they had to resort to one another, having no mirror-- some of the dirt and blood yielded reluctantly, and soon Qui-Gon was scrubbing Obi-Wan's face and neck efficiently with a piece of cloth torn from his own ruined tunic.

Obi-Wan helped Solo and the prince in turn, and soon they waded out, dripping, and took turns with the soft cotton cloth Qui-Gon's maids had packed for the proposed swimming trip. Big enough to lie on, it dried them all without becoming wringing wet. Obi-Wan tried not to blush when he realized why it was so large-- it had been meant for a blanket they would lie on to make love.

Qui-Gon unpacked fresh clothes that had been packed for their supposed tryst in silence, and he and Obi-Wan dressed. Obi-Wan had to wear court clothes; he only had one more set of his own rough-spun tunics and his robe was ruined. He'd need to have Adi sew another. He usually made his robes and tunics himself, but for once, he wouldn't undertake the time-consuming labor. There were greater concerns that demanded his attention.

Solo took their ruined clothes with promises to dispose of them, and they separated for the ride back to the palace. Solo slunk away to the dell where he'd tethered his horse, Falcon, and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both climbed onto Sebulba's sturdy back.

"In front of me, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon directed. Obi-Wan hoisted himself up, having a little difficulty given the chain mail once again hidden under his clothes, and they started out at a slow walk.

Qui-Gon's arm slid around Obi-Wan, both keeping him steady and speaking of protection-- and probably to the courtiers, of the affair everyone believed lay between them. Obi-Wan accepted it, tired enough that he was glad of its circle. He was still a little weak from the recent traumas of his injuries, and today's events had told heavily on him. Still, he'd borne up well and completed his duties. He would be completely healthy again in a week, he suspected, and even such a rapid recovery was not beforetimes.

"Palpatine will be certain that he can crush us before he moves again with brute force," Qui-Gon mused. "You will have to help me be sly, Obi-Wan."

"Yes." Obi-Wan nodded. "I believe we may expect our next attack to come from closer to home-- your father, most probably. There are a variety of things Palpatine could seize on. Panaka's absence and the story we use to explain it, my presence in your bed...."

Qui-Gon stiffened and his protective arm moved away, grasping the reins tightly. "You came up with that ruse on your own." Obi-Wan could feel anger gathering around him. "And you insisted on sharing my bed."

"You agreed more than readily," he reminded Qui-Gon frostily.

"Not all of us are emotionless monks," Qui-Gon growled. "A man has needs."

Obi-Wan felt his heart soften. The prince was quite right, a man did have needs and Qui-Gon had not been trained as he himself had to transmute the energy released by sexual need into something more useful.

"I'm not asking you to take a vow of chastity," Obi-Wan told the prince. Qui-Gon relaxed slightly behind him, but not entirely, still holding himself away from Obi-Wan and it suddenly occurred to him that the prince was perhaps feeling the effects of adrenaline left over from their battle. Near death experiences tended to leave a man with the need to prove how alive he was.

For Obi-Wan, especially after a battle, that energy usually went into helping others, healing minor wounds and cleansing himself. He had used that energy today in trying to keep Panaka alive; it hadn't been enough. But to a man like the prince, such energy would no doubt translate into sexual appetite.

He knew how unfair it was to expect the prince to remain celibate until the threat was over, had said so when Qui-Gon had made that offer. Perhaps it was time to take matters into his own hands and insist that the prince find release with someone they could trust; frustration would only lead to a foul temper and mistakes.

"I have spent my life learning control," Obi-Wan said softly.

"While I have spent mine indulging every urge." There was bitterness in Qui-Gon's voice.

"That's not what I was going to say."

"It's true enough though."

Obi-Wan sighed, wondering how he could release the prince from his self-imposed vow without insulting him. "A man must see to his needs or he risks being unable to serve others."

"You are chaste," answered Qui-Gon.

"But I see to my needs-- I have been taught a different way of doing so, but I deal with them nonetheless. I will not be insulted if you find pleasure in your bed. My attitude when I first arrived from the temple was wrong. I expected you and your world to match mine and judged you accordingly. I'm sorry for that."

Qui-Gon inhaled, a sound of surprise. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"Oh, I think that I do," Obi-Wan responded earnestly. "There is nothing wrong with your passions, Prince Qui-Gon. Without them, there would be no children to become monks. What would be wrong would be to let passion interfere with duty-- and if you deny your passions, that can be just as harmful as indulging them at the wrong time or without care. I think there is guilt of misunderstanding on both our parts," Obi-Wan finished softly. "You have worked to make amends with me, and to understand me. Let me do the same with you."

"We'll discuss it," Qui-Gon finally gave in. "But for now, this is the last ridge before the castle comes in sight. We will have to resume our ruse."

Obi-Wan nestled into his arms in silent answer.


	81. Chapter 81

They drew little notice as they trotted into the courtyard, but Qui-Gon's skin crawled and he had the distinct feeling of being watched by hostile eyes. Judging by Obi-Wan's tension in his arms, he felt the same. It felt good to go inside the enclosure of the stables, where there was no threat of arrows from an unseen archer in the battlements.

Bruck, his scalp showing about a half inch of pale fuzz, came up sullenly to take Sebulba's reins. While he steadied the horse Qui-Gon slid down, then extended his arms for Obi-Wan.

Bruck cut his eyes sideways at them, scowling. Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder if the boy had been in cahoots with Sira, or if he were an innocent. His open dislike of Obi-Wan made it less likely that he was a clever traitor; if so, Qui-Gon suspected his mouth would have been filled with honeyed words for the both of them.

Obi-Wan was eyeing the stable-hand too, and his hand had risen to fiddle unconsciously with his braid.

Qui-Gon felt a pang of remorse go through him at that. It had been a callous and deliberately cruel thing to do, mocking Obi-Wan and his commitment by braiding his whore's hair. He could understand now why Obi-Wan had been so incensed, why he had shaved poor Bruck bald.

Another person he himself had treated badly, taking the boy into his bed and fucking him until he'd had his fill. He must have been the talk of the palace-- one didn't have to be a monk to wonder at a man who spent his whole existence in the pursuit of pleasure. Qui-Gon imagined there were a lot of fences in the need of mending if he hoped for the support of the nobles of the land.

He would begin by ridding the palace of the louse that currently soiled its halls. Palpatine and any man, woman or child found pandering to his foul wishes.

"Send for my guard-- tell them to assemble in the courtyard for an announcement and then attend the horse," he ordered. Bruck offered a bow, glancing up at him with hungry eyes before turning to do his bidding. Qui-Gon sighed. He would have to see what he could do to reward the boy's loyalty; it couldn't be easy to return to the life of a stable hand, even if his time in Qui-Gon's bed had been short.

"I will make the excuse for Panaka and Lando's absence and make Solo acting captain where our enemy can hear it for himself first hand," he said quietly to Obi-Wan. "I fear Palpatine will guess that they were with us; I can only hope he doesn't realize we are on to him."

"After your remarks to him the other day, he can hardly help but suspect," Obi-Wan commented wryly.

Qui-Gon sighed. "It isn't my nature to work in secret."

"It certainly isn't." But Obi-Wan's eyes were warm as well as wry, and Qui-Gon suspected he appreciated his prince's honesty.

As the troops assembled, they strolled out into the plaza-- and into the tangible aura of threat that the open air represented. "After considerable thought upon the matter of Xanatos and Crion, and in accordance with my father's wish that I treat their threat more seriously, I have sent my trusted commander Panaka and his aide to reconnoiter in secrecy," Qui-Gon announced. "In their absence, the ranks will be commanded by Captain Solo. I trust in his expertise, both as a warrior and as a leader of men. You all know him well. Obey him as you would myself."

Qui-Gon listened to the murmur rising among the men; it didn't sound as pleased as he might have hoped, but there were many more clear faces than sullen ones-- Solo was a good choice then. He was peripherally aware of Obi-Wan scanning the troops also, and resolved to ask the monk about his conclusions.

"In service to my father, the King!" Qui-Gon lifted his sword high, and the men echoed the salute, the scrape of blades in scabbards ringing in the air.

Obi-Wan also lifted his blade, its narrow metal winking in the sunlight, and Qui-Gon glanced past him to see Bruck lurking in the stable door-- he had no sword, but his arm was lifted, his face set with pride. Perhaps he would do well as one of the King's Horsemen. At least that position would permit him to rise, if his abilities warranted it. There was no point in farming such a fine lad out to menial duties.

Qui-Gon sheathed his sword again, a signal that dismissed his men. He turned to Obi-Wan. "Let us go to our rooms and summon my chamberlain. We should see if his information networks have borne fruit about Amidala's position."

"We should detour past the kitchens first. We're overdue for our evening meal."

"Indeed. Though it wouldn't be unusual for new lovers to lose track of time. And if we are to convince the servants that that is what we are, we will need to act the part-- more than just a few kisses in bed I'm afraid." Obi-Wan nodded and, taking it as permission, Qui-Gon slid his arm loosely around his bodyguard's shoulders as they entered the kitchen.

Shmi was there, apron covered with flour and the odd spot. She, Sira, and several others were putting finishing touches to large trays of food. They all stopped and dropped curtsies as he entered. "Will your highness be joining them in the dining hall?" asked Shmi.

He shook his head. "Just a quick meal here and then we'll be out of your hair."

"As my lord wishes."

Sira gave them a knowing look and Qui-Gon found himself wanting to wipe the smirk from her face, but held himself back. She was too useful to them; there would be time enough to deal out an appropriate admonition when Palpatine had been caught.

Beside him, Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan stiffen and noted the blush that passed over his cheeks. It would serve them well. He tightened his hold and gave Obi-Wan an unguarded look, letting his feelings show through, knowing his bodyguard would take it as acting.

"I'm afraid Obi-Wan's mare wandered off while we were somewhat...distracted. By the time we noticed she was well and truly gone."

"Probably headed for home. They'll have a mystery on their hands at the temple when she reappears there in several weeks time," suggested Obi-Wan quietly, looking up at the prince through his lashes. Qui-Gon swallowed and turned his attention back to the servants-- Obi-Wan was far too good at that, heaven help him should the lad ever mean it.

Shmi gave him a sharp look, but let the comments pass unchallenged. He could read sadness behind her eyes and knew she had divined, if not the truth, at least a portion of it.

"Something smells good," he said, realizing he was hungry and only now remembering that their picnic lunch had been abandoned uneaten. "Love gives me an appetite," he added with a slightly forced laugh.

Obi-Wan was slightly stiff beside him and Qui-Gon knew that he was also remembering why they had not eaten. Lying did not come naturally to the lad in any case, this false play at joviality when in fact people had died must have been grating terribly on Obi-Wan's conscience.

"As a matter of fact, I think we'll have a tray in my rooms," he said, cutting short their need to continue this act. Obi-Wan gave him a grateful look and murmured 'thank you' under the cover of the titters and giggles of the serving girls. He pulled Obi-Wan a little closer and, without sparing the servants another glance, left the kitchen.


	82. Chapter 82

Qui-Gon was still wiping his lips when his chamberlain arrived. Shmi was sharp; not only had she seemed to guess about the possible fate of Obi-Wan's horse, but she'd also had the wit not to send Sira with their tray.

"Have you news about Amidala and Valorum's estates?"

"I do, your highness." The chamberlain looked nervous. "In one way, things seem quite unexceptional. Valorum's lands are being tilled, the harvest looks to be excellent. His serfs and villeins have no complaint with the steward. Some of his armsmen left and accompanied him into exile, as is to be expected; the others..." the chamberlain shook his head. "They're a mercenary lot, and they like Palpatine. He pays them well. But there are more than there should be. Valorum's guards appear to have sustained no losses, though perhaps a third of his men accompanied him when he rode away. If anything, his force is larger now than it was."

Qui-Gon frowned, glancing at Obi-Wan, and saw sober concern in his bodyguard's eyes. A ready-made force, men dedicated to Palpatine by virtue of coin. That was bad news indeed, and he was partly responsible for the events that had led to it.

"Then order is being kept in Valorum's lands, and there is no legitimate reason for my father to intervene, though there is cause for concern and vigilance." Qui-Gon ventured slowly.

"No cause until you look at Amidala." The chamberlain pursed his lips as though he would like to spit. "Palpatine's at court, and he keeps her under his thumb. Before, she was occupied learning her father's business. Now she's just a decoration on the steward's arm. He admonishes her if she speaks. Her place, he says, is in the bedchamber producing issue, not overseeing harvests or pronouncing justice among the people. Nor offering opinions to her betters."

"Whose issue, precisely?" Qui-Gon felt his teeth grit; his jaw ached with the force of containing his fury without shouting at the man.

"Nobody's at present, but I think we can guess whose heirs Palpatine would like to see take Valorum's title."

"Indeed," he replied through his teeth. "Aside from her lands she's a fine lass and smart. I had half a mind to arrange a marriage between her and Anakin."

"You still could," Obi-Wan suggested.

Qui-Gon looked at his bodyguard in surprise. "Without even consulting the boy?"

"You could send him a letter, explain it is pending his approval, which he may offer at his leisure. But meanwhile you can move Amidala out from under Palpatine's thumb. Set her up here in her own chambers, with a chaperone and maids you trust."

Qui-Gon considered. It seemed a sound plan, if it were necessary-- Palpatine would take it as another slight or even proof that he was suspected.

"If I may sir." His chamberlain interrupted his thoughts and he nodded at the man. "Amidala has turned from an outgoing, bright presence to a shadow. She is rarely seen and only on the arm of the Duke. It is only a matter of time before he feels he has waited long enough and takes her for himself."

"It would be a kindness then, forcing this betrothal on her before Palpatine forces his own marriage on her."

"Yes, sir."

"I shall leave the arrangements in your hands then: a proposal of marriage on behalf of my son. We will do it as soon as it can be arranged-- and in public, so that her reply may be noted by all and Palpatine cannot deny it. Spread a rumour that I will be making an important announcement tomorrow at breakfast, that should assure both Palpatine and the girl's presence."

"As you wish." The chamberlain bowed and left.

"It forces us to show more of our hands than I would like," Obi-Wan mused, "But I do not like the idea of leaving the girl in his hands."

"Agreed." Qui-Gon sighed. "What did you think of the troops' reaction to Solo?"

"I believe most of them like him. Perhaps more than they like you," Obi-Wan responded candidly. "But their liking for him might as well be liking for you, since he seems loyal to you, and they will follow him. Most of them, at any rate. It's Valorum's force I am most troubled by."

"Yes, that is disturbing news." Qui-Gon deflated, irritation rising strongly in him. "I am a fool, Obi-Wan."

"All of us are fools at times, my prince." Obi-Wan shook his head. "If we spent our lives second-guessing every decision we made, we would never accomplish anything."

Qui-Gon rose, pacing, needing to lash out at something. He almost wished Tarkin had survived; at this moment his need for action would even have encompassed torture rather than stillness.

He was aware of Obi-Wan's eyes following him, but he could not stop, the frenzy of frustration finding its only outlet in his long strides.

"We have a discussion to finish," Obi-Wan observed mildly. "You need to soothe your body, my prince."

Qui-Gon bit back the instinctive desire to snap a negation at his bodyguard. "I can control myself!" Even that sounded impolite. The prospect of tomorrow's actions was too remote to calm him.

"You can," Obi-Wan agreed. "Just as you use a dam to control a river or a bridle to control a horse, you use tools to control your body as well. Physical gratification is the best tool you have."

He rounded on his bodyguard. "You don't think I can keep my word?"

"Indeed I do, but need. He would control himself, damn it.

"Please, my prince," Obi-Wan said softly, earnest eyes gazing into his own. "I do not wish to see you torture yourself so."

"You're asking me to do this?" Qui-Gon was fairly sure he could resist just about anything but this, Obi-Wan's sea-storm eyes even more effective than his simple words.

"Yes, my prince."

"Then I shall do it for you."


	83. Chapter 83

Obi-Wan moved to the bed ahead of him, bending over it to remove the covers, carefully shaking each one out before testing the mattress, with eyes, the flat of his sword and, ultimately, his own body. It made Qui-Gon wince to watch him lying on the bed, searching for more needles or some other trap. If they really were lovers, Qui-Gon would assign a bodyguard to Obi-Wan, someone to test everything ahead of the lad, though he knew instinctively that Obi-Wan would insist on a final check himself.

But with things as they stood now, his need of a bodyguard was the only thing that Qui-Gon had to hold Obi-Wan with him. He would have to convince the lad of his continuing need once this current crisis was over.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan had remade the bed and was smiling shyly at him. "All yours, my prince."

"Thank you," replied Qui-Gon, allowing himself the luxury of sliding his hand along Obi-Wan's cheek. His bodyguard's skin was soft, only the faintest hint of a beard tickling against Qui-Gon's palm. He allowed himself the wish that they were going to bed together, that Obi-Wan's plan included helping him relieve himself of the tension that thrummed through his body.

But Obi-Wan had already moved to the chair that sat by the servant's entrance. "I'll keep watch from here," said Obi-Wan, his eyes dropping closed. "I shall leave you in peace unless someone happens along."

Qui-Gon felt self-conscious as he stripped off most of his clothes, leaving only his underlinens. Usually he would discard them, too, but even with his eyes shut, Obi-Wan was a tangible presence in the room. Impossible to imagine how he'd pursued his lusts with the lad present, flaunting them in his face, even, for so long.

He pushed back the coverlet slowly, then jerked away from the bed and moved to open his window to let in a cool breeze. A drink of water, next, and as he scooped the pewter cup through the basin he became aware of Obi-Wan watching him, bemused, beneath his lashes.

Qui-Gon dropped the cup with a splash and then found a towel to wipe his hands and chest, keeping his back to his bodyguard. Sith, but he was hard-- Obi-Wan's eyes on him were only making it worse. If Obi-Wan was still looking. He didn't know.

Muttering, Qui-Gon went and flopped out full-length on his mattress. He lay for a moment, then tried his left side. Then he yanked up the sheet and punched his pillow.

"Get on with it," Obi-Wan advised. "You'll feel better."

"How would you know?" Qui-Gon growled under his breath and turned his back to Obi-Wan, curling in on himself, and jammed his hand into his underlinens. His erection pushed angrily into his palm. "This is ridiculous."

"Just do it."

Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth for an angry retort, but his words became stuck in his throat as the bed dipped. He stiffened in shock and nearly choked as a gentle hand ran down his back, fingers tracing the line of his spine to the top of his underlinens.

"It's all right," Obi-Wan said softly, soothingly. "Lie on your stomach," he ordered and Qui-Gon obeyed without thought, moaning as his shaft was pressed between the mattress and his own body.

Obi-Wan's fingers began to work on the knots of tension in his back. Soft, warm and callused, they pressed and kneaded until he wasn't sure if he would melt into a puddle or drill a hole through the mattress. Perhaps both.

"Better?" asked Obi-Wan and he nodded. Was it his imagination or had a soft kiss been placed on his shoulder before the bed shifted again with the loss of Obi-Wan's weight?

He chose to believe it hadn't been his imagination and he took the memory of the soft, almost phantom touch and spread it out over his shoulders and down along his spine. As he imagined Obi-Wan covering his back with kisses, his hips began to rock, pushing his aching need into the mattress.

He could remember the way Obi-Wan felt in his arms each morning as they woke, curled together. He could remember the softness of Obi-Wan's lips beneath his own as they put on a show for Sira. His hips rocked faster.

A part of him felt guilty for using the lad this way. For taking the innocent memories and touches and using them for pleasure. However, another part of him was quite enjoying it, he thought ruefully as he rocked again into the mattress. He shifted to his side, pulling his underlinens down far enough to free his shaft.

Try as he might he couldn't stop the moan that passed through his lips as his hand circled his length. He was hard as nails and hot as a summer day, pushing eagerly into his fist. He wondered what it would be like if it was Obi-Wan's hand that surrounded him and another moan split the air at that thought.

Suddenly it was unbearably erotic, to have Obi-Wan sitting across the room, fully dressed and ostensibly uninvolved, while he lay in bed, fantasizing about having the monk with him.

He moaned again, clasping himself almost too hard, and pushed savagely into his fist, imagining that it was the hot grip of Obi-Wan's body around him. He'd lain naked in bed with his beautiful bodyguard; imagination could supply the rest: warm velvety skin instead of crisp linen sheets. A fuzz of soft hair instead of the faintly musty scent of his feather pillow.

He bit his tongue, trying not to moan Obi-Wan's name aloud; his balls were tightening mercilessly and he had to shift his grip, stroking his fingers along the bottom of the shaft.

God, it felt so good-- if only he could believe that actually had been a kiss, and not just an inadvertent brush of Obi-Wan's braid, which it almost certainly had been. He squeezed his lashes shut and pumped himself, pleasure suddenly turned cruel-- a mockery of what he wanted, and a pale shadow of reality.

His hand could hardly be enough-- like a drop of water, when his throat hungered for a long cool draught. He needed a body in bed with him, someone to stroke him and kiss him, someone to distract him from the emptiness inside and the images of the dead men, Panaka dying in Obi-Wan's arms...

His erection, which had been so near to bursting forth with a gush of pleasure, abruptly faltered and withered in his hand. He fell still, wondering if Obi-Wan would think he had finished. Panaka lay in the ground now, not in his wife's arms. His wife would be expecting his return, wondering how soon. She didn't know her husband lay dead in the cold ground.

Qui-Gon lay quietly for a long time, trying to fake sleep. At last it seemed to work. He listened as quiet footsteps advanced behind him, and lay very still as his blankets were pulled over his body. His ardor was quenched, his energy spent though not sated, and he dropped into a dreamless sleep at last, his head aching faintly behind his brow in a way that he knew would worsen before dawn.


	84. Chapter 84

Obi-Wan settled back in his chair with a frown, choosing not to join Qui-Gon on the bed. He was no fool, and he knew physical release was accompanied by seminal emission... and he knew both by sight and by scent that Qui-Gon had failed to achieve orgasm.

Perhaps masturbation was not enough for a man who had known so many lovers. Not satisfactory. Perhaps he had been too embarrassed by being alone to become caught up in the act. It worried him; Qui-Gon would probably still be cross and restless in the morning, and he would not have the relaxation Obi-Wan had hoped for.

Other measures would have to be taken, then.

Obi-Wan sat back, thinking hard. Qui-Gon would not take well to guided meditation, he suspected, and sword practice would only serve to arouse further adrenaline that would need to be quenched. He could hardly offer himself up, and he certainly didn't trust Sira... and he suspected Qui-Gon would find it difficult to sharpen his passion for the wench who had betrayed him. It would be unfair to ask Shmi to perform the duty even though she might be the most logical choice. He frowned again.

Only one other person came to mind. Bruck.

That the stable hand wished to grace Qui-Gon's bed had been clear earlier in the evening. While he'd had only sullen looks and pouts for Obi-Wan himself, each time he had looked at the prince there had been a hunger on his face.

Obi-Wan imagined that to a boy like Bruck, being the prince's whore was far more favourable than stable duty. There was more than that though. Bruck had come out to listen to Qui-Gon's announcement to the soldiers, he'd been eager to join the salute to the king and all of Obi-Wan's instincts told him the boy could be trusted to remain loyal to Qui-Gon.

The only snag would be getting Bruck into Qui-Gon's bed and not tipping their enemy once he was there. He could not leave the prince's side and ringing for a servant was bound to bring none other than Sira. Sira, who came and went as she pleased, who, even should she not be the one to fetch Bruck to them, would surely see him abed with the prince. Try as he might, the only solution he could think of was to lie in bed with them and let Sira believe the three of them were... involved.

He sighed and closed his eyes. The lies grew thicker with each day he spent at the castle. The lies grew thicker, the dead bodies piled higher-- how many now was his sword responsible for? He shook his head. Now was not the time, he had to remain sharp, protect the prince- that was his priority, even if protecting him meant bringing a whore to his bed.

Resolutely he went to the pull and tugged twice before carefully removing his clothing and flinging it at the foot of the bed, as if it had been abandoned in passion. He was under the covers at the prince's side by the time Sira arrived, her hair mussed, a robe only half closed atop her nightgown.

"Bring Bruck," he ordered. Her eyes widened and she looked from him to the sleeping prince and back again.

"If it was another bed partner you wanted..." she simpered, letting the robe fall from her shoulder, hands already moving to the ties of her gown.

He made a face and shook his head. "He said Bruck."

She pouted. "What do you say?"

He couldn't be sure but she seemed angry beneath the coy posturing and he reached out to caress her shoulder, hoping to assuage her; as Palpatine's puppet she was too valuable to them to alienate. "I must say what my prince wishes me to say," he tried to make his voice sound regretful. "Bring Bruck."

She flounced out in a huff and Obi-Wan sighed, snuggling up to Qui-Gon as his ruse demanded. Qui-Gon was deeply asleep and he adjusted automatically to Obi-Wan's presence, sighing a little. Obi-Wan stared at his sleeping face, his heart uneasy. Sith, he hated doing this. But Qui-Gon needed it, badly.

Still... he wished he could have thought of someone, anyone, other than Bruck. He wished again he could have summoned Shmi... but that would not seem fitting, with him already in the prince's bed... and after the battle at the monastery, she might very well refuse to come.

He reached and smoothed a lock of hair away from Qui-Gon's weary face. The stress of the situation was aging him; he looked less pampered than he once had. Lines were creeping in at the edges of his face, especially next to his eyes. They made him even more beautiful.

Obi-Wan flinched as Sira clattered in with Bruck in tow, startled out of his thoughts. Bruck stared at him, face uncertain; Sira just looked sullen, hesitating to leave. "You may go," Obi-Wan caught her eye, and she stamped out. Obi-Wan rose from the bed, careful not to stir Qui-Gon.

"I saw you in the courtyard, taking oath to serve the King." He eyed Bruck, who drew his back up stiffly, defensive. "You feel loyalty to the Jinn Throne?"

"Yes, sir." Bruck gave him a cautious once-over. There was resentment in his eyes, left over from the unpleasant day when Obi-Wan had caught him, pinned him, and shorn his hair. Someone had evened it up, since then, and it had grown almost to the length of Obi-Wan's own convenient cut.

"Do you feel loyalty to your Prince?" Obi-Wan pressed.

Bruck's face pinched with anger. "I do." He answered instantly, his voice curt. No hesitation for time to consider, no shift of lying eyes. Good.

"I am going to search you, then, and then you will go to the prince's bed and ease his body." Obi-Wan straightened his back, summoning all his dignity.

"But you..." Bruck glanced back after Sira, clearly confused.

"She told you I was his bedmate and lover?" Obi-Wan guessed.

"The whole castle thinks it. But yes, she did." Bruck shrugged. "I wondered how it came to be, when you thought you were far too good for his bed not a month past." His lip curled in a sneer.

"On the oath of fealty you swore today in the courtyard, I require you to swear that you will not reveal the truth of this to anyone. Not to Sira, not to your mother, not to the dumb animals in the stable." Obi-Wan fixed him with an unforgiving gaze, ignoring the insult. "Your prince's life lies at stake."

"On my oath of fealty?" Bruck's eyes sharpened.

"Yes. Your oath will be owed to the King and to the Prince, not to me. I merely accept it."

Bruck paused. "I swear on my fealty to the King and to the Prince. I will not reveal that you are not sleeping with Prince Jinn."

Obi-Wan relaxed, trying not to show how profoundly Bruck's acceptance relieved him. He would have hated to be forced to kill the lad to ensure his silence. A shudder rose up his spine at the thought, and he dismissed it, approached Bruck. "Strip."

Bruck look startled at the order and Obi-Wan gentled his tone. "No one goes near the prince's bed until they've been searched. Thoroughly."

"I wouldn't hurt him," Bruck told him sullenly, even as he pulled his tunic up over his head.

"No exceptions. I don't know who we can trust and so I trust no one."

Bruck paused in the midst of removing his leggings, half bent over he looked up at Obi-Wan. "You really care about him don't you?"

"It is my duty."

But Bruck was shaking his head. "It's more than that."

Obi-Wan ignored the assertion and made quick work of lifting Bruck's arms and checking between his legs.

"You really don't trust anyone, do you?"

"If a man doesn't learn caution after three close calls then he deserves what he gets," Obi-Wan said primly. "I will not allow the prince to die due to indifferent body-guarding. Get into bed with him."

Bruck did, sliding in beneath the sheets and wriggling until he had insinuated himself between the sheets. Obi-Wan returned to the other side of the bed. "You're sleeping with us?" asked the stable hand.

"Should anyone come in it must appear as if we're all sleeping together."

Bruck laughed at that "But the only one who'd come in would be -oh."

Obi-Wan looked at Bruck across Qui-Gon's body. "You see now why your oath was so important? Why it is imperative you share nothing that happens in here with anyone?"

Bruck was nodding slowly. There was a hint of smugness amidst a lot of humor in his eyes as he looked up at Obi-Wan. "So it would be a good thing if I were to brag about how I had the prince and his little monk both?"


	85. Chapter 85

Qui-Gon's dreams were strange and troubling, and he woke from them with some relief. He was warm and snug and, despite the headache he did indeed have, he felt surprisingly good. It probably had a lot to do with the warm, lithe body in his arms, soft, shorn hair tickling the inside of his arm.

He kept his eyes closed, preserving the illusion that he and Obi-Wan truly were lovers. One look into those solemn eyes would remind him that this was a sham for the benefit of the servants. A happy rumble rose from his chest, unbidden and uncontrollable -at least it hadn't been the lad's name. To his surprise, Obi-Wan responded with a soft murmur and pressed close to nuzzle at his neck.

Even more surprising, indeed, shocking, was the erection sliding against his own, Obi-Wan's hips moving with knowing intent. For a moment joy sprang inside of him, sharp and almost painful.

Only to be deflated by the realization that this must be another dream, another wickedly real dream like the one he'd experienced at the temple. He was torn between losing himself to it or, now that he knew, waking from it before he could defile Obi-Wan any further within the shadow- realm.

Obi-Wan shifted to cover his nipple with his mouth and Qui-Gon gasped as Obi-Wan first bit and then soothed and sucked. His eyes flew open as his hands moved to the lad's head to hold him in place-- only to scramble backward in shock as the face that looked up into his was not Obi-Wan's, blue-as-crystal eyes beneath white lashes looking at him in growing confusion and hurt.

He kept moving backward until he hit another body and whipped his head around, shocked to find his bodyguard there. Changeable eyes, softly grey in the pre-dawn light, gazed at him in concern. "Are you all right?" asked Obi-Wan.

"I... I wasn't expecting him here!" Qui-Gon stammered, embarrassed.

"I summoned him when I realized you hadn't ejaculated." Obi-Wan flushed a delicate shade of red. "I thought you would find your activities more pleasant with a willing bed companion."

Qui-Gon stared into Obi-Wan's eyes with disbelief, feeling something in him shrivel with misery. He truly didn't care for Qui-Gon at all, if he could summon another man to Qui-Gon's bed to service him. His interest in the prince remained purely professions. Was he still counting the days until the threat was over and he could return to his precious monastery?

"Your Highness." Bruck's eyes were hopeful, his body was lean and taut. "I want to serve you in any way I can. If this is what you need, I am here, and I will give you what this bloodless monk will not." Bruck's eyes flashed briefly at Obi-Wan. He slid closer to Qui-Gon, pressing his trim body to the prince's.

Qui-Gon accepted the embrace automatically; his body knew what to do even though his heart was in tatters. "Very well." He hoped the hoarseness in his voice sounded like passion. His shaft ached nearly as much as his heart. It needed this, and his heart needed the temporary solace of sex.

Bruck squirmed against him like an eel, moaning softly-- he was ardent and passionate, a wonderful lover. He always had been, and beautiful too, even if he was sometimes inclined to sullenness. Qui-Gon thrust against him mechanically, then stilled as Bruck slithered down his body to take the prince's erection into his mouth.

He cried out as Bruck fellated him expertly: teasing, licking, sucking, drawing him in to the root and swallowing to massage the head of his shaft. He buried his fingers in the short hair, so like Obi-Wan's now, and thrust his hips, pushing himself quickly to completion. He shuddered deeply as he came, a hoarse shout leaving his throat.

Some of the tension in his body was released with his seed, he could feel the ache within his skull begin to ease. But Bruck was sucking him still, tongue teasing around the crown of his deflating shaft, fingers stroking his balls and the delicate skin behind them. Before he had a chance to protest, he was growing hard again, filling the boy's mouth with his length.

Bruck released him and moved up his body, sliding against him, skin hot, smooth, silky. Rough fingers slid over his nipples, followed by the silky heat of Bruck's tongue and he could only moan and thrust his hips.

"Ride me," Bruck said into his ear and then moved away to go to his hands and knees. Qui-Gon followed easily, settling between the boy's legs and taking the pot of oil Bruck handed back to him.

Working quickly he soon had Bruck prepared and he slid in without ceremony, beginning a hard, quick pace. Bruck threw his head back as he moved with Qui-Gon, pushing back into each thrust.

"Yes," gasped Bruck, "that's it, right there."

Qui-Gon thrust harder, pushing into the boy's body with all the power of his anger and his frustration and his pain. Unfazed, Bruck continued to encourage him, moving with him. He lost track of how long they moved together, Bruck's body picking up a sheen of sweat and glowing in dawn's light, glowing like he could imagine Obi-Wan's skin would. His glance slid to the monk who lay beside them, eyes averted, cheeks pinked.

Oh yes, thought Qui-Gon, he could almost imagine it was Obi-Wan he was thrusting into, Obi-Wan's body that moved so easily with his own. He could feel his orgasm building, could feel it barreling down his balls and into his shaft. Almost, just one more...

"Yes!" called out Bruck. "Yes, ride me, stallion, ride me!"

With a cry of pain, Qui-Gon came into Bruck's body and collapsed onto the boy's back, the words echoing in his ears fierce reminders that it had not been Obi-Wan beneath him. He pulled out, unmindful of Bruck's groan of frustration, and lay between the two men, closing his eyes tightly.

He could hear Bruck's harsh breathing and feel the movement of the boy's arm along the length of his own as Bruck worked to finish himself. Worse, he could hear the shallow, even breathing of his monk, could feel the still heat of Obi-Wan's arm as he lay quietly, unaffected by the antics of his bed-partners.

Never had sex left him feeling so empty, so roughly used by his own needs.


	86. Chapter 86

Obi-Wan's mouth felt dry; his cheeks were on fire. He'd thought being in the same room with Qui-Gon's sexual antics was bad, but being in the same bed? He swallowed hard and turned over, trying to give them privacy. He worked to calm himself, slowing his breathing, and refused to let his body respond, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't shut out the sounds.

Obi-Wan fixed his eyes on a pale streak through one of the wall stones, struggling to lose himself in seeing the patterns of the life-force in the grain of the rock, but he couldn't meditate. He tried to focus on his heartbeat instead, withdrawing inside himself to close out the exterior world.

That worked a little better, and he sank into the shush of his pulse, trying to ignore how the rhythm of his life echoed the rhythm of sex on the bed next to him.

The bed shifted beneath him as Bruck and Qui-Gon moved, changing positions and Obi-Wan moved with it, rolling to his back. He found a new point to focus on, a slight tear in the heavy drapery at the top of the bedposts. The motion of the mattress beneath him and the rhythmic squeaking of the bed served to give away what the prince and the stable hand were doing now, though Obi-Wan refused to look.

He realized suddenly that his body no longer plagued him with desire; instead he was filled with a melancholy that he didn't quite understand and that was much harder to deal with than his physical reaction had been. The prince needed relief and couldn't find it on his own and Obi-Wan himself certainly wasn't going to be any help in that area, so bringing in Bruck had been the only thing that made sense.

Why then did it bother him so much?

Bruck's own words came back to him then: 'It's more than that.' More than duty. More than lying in Qui-Gon's bed because he had to. More than kissing him to preserve a pretense. More than all those things.

The time had been when he hadn't cared enough about Qui-Gon's sexual needs to ensure they were met. The time was when Qui-Gon hadn't needed such care. When had he changed so much, and how had it happened? He stared up into the drapes and let his mind drift, knowing that the tempest next to him must burn itself to embers eventually. It shouldn't take long.

Still, every moment that passed seemed like an hour, and he could find no simple answer to the questions circling mercilessly in his mind.

Very well, then. This was more than duty. Probably even more than friendship. The question remained-- how much more, and what was he to do about it? Nothing, he decided. Not for the time being, anyway, he would endure and focus on the more pressing issues at hand.

He could not remember any time in his life when he had felt such conflict within himself, such confusion. As long as he could remember, he knew that his destiny was to be as a Knight and that had been his focus; his focus had determined his reality. But now... His hand went to his braid, fingers sliding along the thin rope of hair. He had a vision of himself, the braid in his hands, cut from his hair, not in order to raise him to the rank of Knight within the Order, but to sever those ties for good.

It shook him, threw him out of the calm he'd found and he realized that the prince was finishing, the men beside him panting harshly as they caught their breath. As the prince lay down between him and Bruck, Obi-Wan remained stiff and unmoving, staring up at the drapery as if the ornate material carried the answers he sought to the questions his life had suddenly become.


	87. Chapter 87

Bruck's gasp of completion was loud in the silence of Qui-Gon's rooms. Finished, he stretched langorously and turned to push his warm body against Qui-Gon's, one leg sliding over the prince's with lazy sensuality.

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon gently untangled himself from the boy and sat up. Both Bruck and Obi-Wan put pillows at his back. He sat back against them, barely noticing their softness as he scrubbed at his eyes, feeling weary and suddenly old.

Bruck was a lovely boy who desired him and wanted to please him, but Qui-Gon had taken no joy from their coupling, only the animal pleasure of bodies. Not that long ago, that would have sufficed, but it no longer did. He couldn't imagine continuing with such barren sex; better he should have to make do for the rest of his life with nothing but his hand to offer him solace.

He could dream that perhaps one day his monk would... but no, that was not fair to Obi-Wan. If he were going to do this, it would have to be with the knowledge that Obi-Wan had chosen to honor the vows of his order. Bad enough that he used the monk in his fantasies.

But for now, two sets of eyes were watching him intently, waiting for him to speak.

He glanced between the two of them uncomfortably. Obi-Wan looked distant, faintly pained-- doubtless a result of his disgust at the carnal spectacle. Bruck looked sated, and that made Qui-Gon feel bad too; he'd given no thought to the boy's pleasure, leaving him to bring himself off.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I know this was kindly meant, by both of you, but..." he scrubbed his hand through his hair, watching both faces collapse-- one into wariness, the other into hurt. "Bruck." He reached and touched the lad's face. "I owe you an apology, for more than just this morning."

"Your highness--"

"Hear me out," he interrupted gently. "I have used you for my own pleasure, disregarding yours. I used you to annoy my bodyguard, and he has forgiven me, but you still bear the evidence of my foolishness." He ran his hand over Bruck's shorn hair. "I apologize to you, Bruck Chun. You are a fine bedmate, and deserve better than myself."

"Your highness!" Protest in Bruck's voice now. Obi-Wan sat back, silent, watching them.

"You deserve a place in the King's Guard-- I saw you take oath yesterday, unasked. I can no longer afford such pleasant sensual distractions." He let his genuine regret show in his eyes, holding Bruck's gaze. "If you wish to--"

"No." The word was spoken in tandem, and Qui-Gon blinked. Obi-Wan fell silent again, raising his brows in invitation for Bruck to continue.

"Your highness, if the threat is truly as great as it seems, you need me here more than you need me in the field. I can be eyes and ears in the palace."

Qui-Gon was peripherally aware of Obi-Wan nodding. "Perhaps after the crisis passes," Obi-Wan suggested.

"I would be most honoured to accept the position then. Should you still wish to offer it," Bruck hastened to add.

Qui-Gon clamped his hand on the boy's shoulder with genuine affection. "I have come to appreciate the value of honesty over simpering. You may speak your mind with me, in fact I demand that you do." He looked over at Obi-Wan, reading genuine pleasure in the monk's eyes. It made him feel good and he realized he was going to have to control the impulse to make choices based on what he felt would most please his bodyguard.

Obi-Wan would not thank him for such actions. Indeed his monk would chide him and remind him that it was his duty to serve the country, not himself nor any other individual.

"Well," he said, feeling suddenly awkward, in bed with the man he loved and his lover, all three of them naked. "Perhaps we should start the day."

To his surprise it was Obi-Wan who shook his head. "We must preserve the illusion until Sira has been and gone. Or perhaps..." Obi-Wan's forehead creased as he concentrated. "Perhaps we could be in the midst of an argument as she comes in, resulting in Bruck being thrown out. That would explain why he will no longer warm your bed and maybe Sira would believe she had an ally in him."

"Do you think she'd confide in me?" asked Bruck.

"If you played the jilted lover looking for solace," mused Qui-Gon.

Bruck made a face and Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow in query. "Not that fond of women," mumbled Bruck, pinking around his ears. "But I could make an exception for you, my lord."

Qui-Gon couldn't stop that chuckle that rumbled up but managed to turn it into a cough. "Thank you," he intoned solemnly.

"Do I get to know why she would need an ally? Why you don't trust her?"

It was Obi-Wan who answered. "It would be better if you did not. You will be safer not knowing and if she does choose to confide in you, your reactions will be honest."

Bruck's eyes narrowed. "Something bad then." He shook his head. "Your highness, Sira has always been a lightskirt, and it does not surprise me that--"

"Hst." Obi-Wan reached out and caught Bruck's arm, silencing him. "You dare think that a stable boy has precedence over me in the prince's bed?"

Bruck blinked, then fell into the charade rapidly. "I think that you've spent so much time being afraid of your own dick that you'll never learn to use it!" He jerked his arm out of Obi-Wan's hand.

"Bruck. Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon rumbled a deep threat.

"You're jealous because you've worn your own to a nub you... you..." Sira was pushing the door open a crack, almost silently, but not putting her head in yet, and Obi-Wan flailed for a suitable insult with an untrained tongue. "...girl!"

Bruck slapped him; Obi-Wan could have evaded the strike but judged it better not to. The hardworking lad had a strong arm, and it made his head ring.

"No more of that!" Qui-Gon caught Bruck's arm, and Obi-Wan lunged at Bruck perforce, keeping half an eye on the door. "I'll see to it you're never summoned to his bed again, slut." The words had an alarming taste of satisfaction to them. He cuffed Bruck. "Get out!"

"But your highness!" Bruck whined.

"Return to the stables, boy, until you learn respect for your betters." Qui-Gon let go of Bruck's arm. "If your insolence continues, we'll have you back up here and teach you Sira's job, and you can be a maid instead of tending the horses!"

Sniveling quite credibly, Bruck squirmed out of bed and snatched his breeches. Sira slipped in as he yanked them on, and lowered her head, curtsying toward the bed. "How may I serve you this morning, your highness and milord?"

"Breakfast," Qui-Gon snapped. "And see to it that this useless chit returns to his dunghill!"


	88. Chapter 88

The silence after Sira pattered away in Bruck's wake hung uncomfortably over both their heads.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed after a moment. "I know you meant well, and I appreciate your efforts on my behalf." He wished he could touch his bodyguard as he'd touched Bruck, stroke his face or his hair. "But I believe I would prefer to choose my own bed partners in the future."

Obi-Wan reddened. "I stepped beyond my bounds. I'm sorry."

Qui-Gon smiled a little, softening the sting. "You did what you believed best, and it has gained us a valuable ally. All is well."

Obi-Wan nodded. "As near as can be hoped, anyway. Sira watched for some time before she came in. We will have to be vigilant, and extend our pretenses."

Qui-Gon swallowed. "I know you aren't looking forward to that. Perhaps we acted hastily in dismissing Bruck."

"I will do my duty." Obi-Wan's expression was opaque, and Qui-Gon sighed.

No point in trying to pursue that line of conversation further; the monk would do just as he pleased and talking about it was only prolonging the embarrassment for them both. "After we finish our breakfast, we should join the court in the dining hall," Qui-Gon mused. "I don't want to delay the proposal any longer than necessary."

Obi-Wan pulled out his remaining uniform. "I'll need to get another habit," he commented as he slipped on the simple linen leggings. Qui-Gon couldn't stop the soft sound of disappointment as that sweet bottom was covered and Obi-Wan turned to him, eyebrows raised in query.

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon took a good long look at the taut abdomen and finely muscled chest before speaking. "I'm sure Adi can duplicate the uniform and we've plenty of simple cloth to chose from."

Obi-Wan inclined his head and then put on his tunics, hiding away the treasure of his body. Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Bring me something as well."

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the clothes that hung in the wardrobe, hand moving over them. Qui-Gon sat back, curious as to what his bodyguard would choose for him.

Pulling out a garment, Obi-Wan returned to him and Qui-Gon huffed in surprise. "That?" he asked, eyeing the flamboyant red silk blouse and tight black leather leggings that Obi-Wan brought. It was not the choice he would have imagined his monk would make.

"People will see you in it and imagine that you are nothing more than a peacock, strutting around with his tail on display. Many will misjudge you, presume that you are all show and no substance. It wouldn't hurt our cause if you are believed to be the blatant dandy still."

"Is that what you thought, when you first came here?" Qui-Gon asked, not entirely comfortable with Obi-Wan's reasoning. Oh, the lad was right enough, but the role was one that was becoming more and more distasteful to him.

His bodyguard made no answer and Qui-Gon pushed. "Obi-Wan?"

"It was what you were," Obi-Wan said quietly. "All you cared to be."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard. The truth hurt, but with it came the balm of realizing Obi-Wan had spoken of it as though it were in the past. "And now?" He knew he sounded weak and needy, and he hated it.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, eyes troubled. "Ask the nobles who bowed to you when your father rejected you," he suggested quietly. "That meant much, your highness. You have begun to earn their respect; this display is only to lull the foolish and the malicious."

"And what do you think?" He could not let it rest, worrying at his fear like a child worries at a badly scabbed wound.

"You are my prince," Obi-Wan answered simply. "I would not accept you as such if you were still the spoiled brat you seemed at our first meeting."

Qui-Gon swallowed in relief, reminding himself that if it was not the response he needed to hear, it was at least a true one-- and a fine one, one that he could point to with pride. A Jedi monk owed fealty to no one but his order. Still, he must not read too much into Obi-Wan's statement; Obi-Wan had made no oath of fealty and he probably meant only that he had accepted Qui-Gon as worthy of his protective efforts.

Sira's return startled him out of his thoughts; he accepted the tray she offered and shooed her away. Fully dressed now, Obi-Wan sat down on the bed and began to sample the meal cautiously. Qui-Gon got up to dress himself while his bodyguard was occupied.

"Add a cloak, something regal and celebratory," suggested Obi-Wan. "As befitting someone expecting to be made a father-in-law."

"If Palpatine suspects we know he is our enemy he will likely believe I'm taunting him."

But Obi-Wan was shaking his head. "If you act simply as the father of the potential groom, playing it up, he won't know for sure whether that is all you are or whether you are deliberately attempting to thwart his plans. I think off balance is the best we can expect from Palpatine at the moment."

"And the worst?" he asked lightly, wondering if Obi-Wan's thoughts would match his own.

"He will step up his attacks. We must be more diligent than ever, my prince." Qui-Gon nodded and dressed quickly.

"The food is safe," Obi-Wan told him and Qui-Gon sat on the bed with a sigh. He wasn't hungry and he was tired, heart weary, but he needed the sustenance, needed to soldier on so that they could put this threat behind them. So he ate.

Obi-Wan nibbled from Qui-Gon's bowls instead of dishing up his own and it made Qui-Gon smile to see the return of this practice. It might only be fodder for their pretence of being lovers, but to Qui-Gon it spoke of an easy intimacy that he hoped to see continue.

A knock on the door interrupted the end of their meal and Obi-Wan answered it, his hand on his sword hilt. It proved to be the chamberlain. "Everything is in order for the proposal, your highness. Palpatine and Amidala are both in attendance."

"Very well, let us go and have this done."

Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan following closely at his heels as they proceeded down toward the main banqueting hall, where the company awaited their arrival. He felt a flutter of nervousness on his son's behalf, and quashed it firmly. Anakin could refuse, if he chose. This would not be an echo of Qui-Gon's own loveless betrothal and union.

He extended his arm for Obi-Wan to take, as though he were escorting a lady into the hall, and Obi-Wan slipped his hand into the crook of Qui-Gon's elbow with a passably coquettish air. They marched in regally, and Qui-Gon was aware of every eye turning to study them, some with admiration, all with speculation. He seated Obi-Wan automatically and remained standing himself, pausing and letting the tension in the hall grow.

"I have joyous tidings to share with the land today." Qui-Gon gazed around expectantly, trying to decide how many people looked nervous. "My father has expressed concern with his grandson's schooling, perhaps for fear that he may become bookish and disinclined to choose a mate, or at least, a feminine one," he gave Obi-Wan a besotted look, and a low titter passed through the hall. "So to ease my father's fears and provide for continuation of the noble Jinn line, it is my intention to offer my son's hand in marriage to the lovely Amidala, who will one day be duchess of her own estates, and I hope, Queen of our fine land." He beamed idiotically.

A roar of voices rose in the room, excited babble, and Qui-Gon met a few sharp, calculating looks from among the throng-- both from men and women, especially the fathers and mothers of girls Anakin's age-- and also from Valorum's closest allies. Some seemed pleased, others disappointed... but Valorum's friends looked relieved.

Amidala sat quite still in her chair, a spoon of boiled oats halfway to her lips, her face pale. Palpatine sat at her side, his face dark and ugly as a thundercloud. Amidala dropped her spoon; the motion from her and the soft clatter penetrated to the crowd, which silenced in waves, like ripples spreading from a pebble dropped in water.

She pushed back her stool and stood, body slim and regal, her chin lifted. "Your highness, Prince Qui-Gon." Her voice was low and pleasant, just barely vibrating with restrained excitement. "I am honored to accept the offer of your son's hand."

The room exploded again, and Qui-Gon smiled, extending a paternal hand to her in invitation. She walked quite steadily toward the dais where he stood next to Obi-Wan, not looking to the right or left.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat impatiently, silencing the crowd again with some difficulty, and took her hand. "I am honored by your acceptance, and I am sure my son will be equally pleased." He looked her in the eye. "As of this moment, you are a member of my family. I will provide your care and supervision until you and my son come of age to be wed."

Amidala smiled very faintly, the slightest curve of the corners of her mouth. "I am grateful, Your Highness." Holding his hand, she dipped in a half-curtsey.

Qui-Gon surveyed the crowd once more, passing lightly over Palpatine, who looked as though he'd swallowed a live coal. "I go now to present to my father his new granddaughter. Come, Obi-Wan." Together, they swept from the room.


	89. Chapter 89

Cold metal bites into my hand and I look down, surprised to see blood against my skin. My blood. I let go of the knife I have been holding crushed within my palm.

My gaze returns again to the whelp and his bastard monk as Amidala reaches them. She curtsies and says something, but I cannot hear her, I have not heard anything since the proposal of marriage offered to my ward. MY ward. She is mine just as her lands are, just as this castle is, as the crown that sits on that old toad's head should be, will be.

My teeth hurt from the effort of not letting my anger spill out over them. I would crush them with my words, with my very thoughts, bring these walls down upon them and bury them forever in its rubble. Their faces would be white with death and gray with dust.

But I cannot rule from rubble, can I, my beauty.

I watch them leave, walking out together as if she were already his daughter by marriage. It seems I have underestimated the prince. He has a brain after all; it must be the influence of his little monk that he is learning to use it now.

She was to be my queen, but perhaps I am better off without her. Who needs a queen when I have you, my beauty? You shall be my queen -I shall rule you for all of my days, never have you known a master like me and you shall revel in it.

It is time to step up my plans, for you are waiting for me so patiently and I will not make you wait any longer. If the prince will not die, I shall have to crush him another way. I shall do it for you, my beauty, do it to prove my devotion, my love, my right as your lord and master.

Qui-Gon Jinn, you have humiliated me. Gloat well on your moment of triumph, for it is the last you will have. I will take everything you love and I will destroy it, starting with your precious catamite and finishing with your son and your throne. When I am finished with you, prince Qui-Gon, you will not rule so much as a dung heap.

Won't that be a fitting punishment for him, my beauty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, Pumpkin and I both eventually grew away from writing in TPM fandom and this is the last that was written of the priest and his monk....


End file.
